“I ride better than your barbarian friend, yes?” Beaugissa laughed.
Maleric lost his fight to remain astride his mount and fell hard enough to lift a cloud of dust.
“Orco’s nuts, he landed hard!” Caros felt a surge of fear for his unlikely companion and clucked his tongue, urging his mount forward. With relief, he watched Maleric roll upright and stagger in a half-circle, dazed and winded.
Beaugissa cursed from behind him and shouted a warning. As her words sank in, Caros lifted his eyes from Maleric. Six riders were bearing down on them from a grassy knoll where they had waited unseen beneath the boughs of trees that grew along the crest.
Their naked blades, raised spears and screamed war cries sent a river of shock through Caros. The lead rider cast his spear, clearly targeting Maleric who had his back to the riders.
The act broke through Caros’ shock and he yelled a warning to Maleric. Grabbing two light spears from the quiver at his knee with his left hand, he drew back the heavier war spear held in his right and dug his heels into his mount’s flanks. It surged forward at once.
The spear cast by the leading rider whipped past Maleric’s cheek and buried itself in the Gaul’s mount. The horse screamed in agony as the broad blade tore into its body. It half fell to its hindquarters and then exploded back to its feet, bucking and lashing out at the pain that seared through its ribs and gut. Maleric ducked and staggered away from it, straight towards the onrushing enemy riders.
Caros was at the limit of throwing range, but his horse was gaining speed and he was already almost on top of Maleric. The enemy riders hurled two more spears at the Gaul, who only then seemed to heed their presence.
Maleric bellowed as a spear glanced off a rock a pace in front of him, spun end over end and cracked into his shins. He went down again.
Caros stiffened, rose with his mount’s momentum and at its height, unleashed his war spear. He was now well within range of the enemy and targeted the lead rider who was readying a second spear.
Caros’ spear sailed between the ears of the rider’s mount and punched through the man’s midsection. His tormented scream rose over the drumming hoof beats and wild war cries before he pitched face first from his still galloping mount. Caros had to swerve to avoid Maleric’s still wildly bucking mount. The enemy riders split, two edging to Caros’ right while the other three charged for him. He turned his mount hard to get his shield between them and his body, transferring one of the lighter spears to his right hand. Moving fast, he hurled that spear and even as it left his hand, transferred the second and launched it after the first. The first struck one of the rider’s mounts, high on its foreleg, causing it to stumble and sending the rider catapulting over its head. His second spear disappeared into the swaying grass beyond the riders. They retaliated at once, sending their own spears hurtling at him from just paces away. One struck his shield with a bass thud. Then they flashed past his rear, cursing and twisting their mounts’ necks viciously as they fought to turn on him.
Caros risked a glance to his right and saw the pair that had ridden that way chasing down Beaugissa and the two pack horses. Her hair flowed like a cape behind her as she galloped back down the trail. Caros cursed and drew the last pair of throwing spears.
Maleric was on his feet now and Caros saw him stoop to collect the spear that had tripped him up. The blade was bent, but the Gaul quickly laid it on a rock and stepped on it. He put his weight on the shaft and levered. A heartbeat later the old battlefield trick had bent the spearhead back into alignment.
The Gaul lifted the spear and roared, pointing it after the fleeing warrioress. “Go Caros!”
Caros kicked his horse into a gallop, angling it past the two enemy riders who were coming at him again, swords drawn. He held the spears low in his right hand, shielding them from their sight.
When they had closed near enough for him to see the ticks hanging like grapes at the corners of the horses’ eyes, he hurled the first, closely followed by the last. Then he was past them, leaving one man scrabbling in pain at the spear quivering from his shoulder.
Caros leaned low over his mount’s withers, ignoring the pain that suddenly boiled in his neck and shoulders from the bruising he had suffered two days before. He set his sights on the backs of the two enemy riders closing on Beaugissa. They were already a full two stades ahead of him and within striking distance of the pack horses that trailed the warrioress.
Caros roared with helplessness as the two riders edged up on either side of the Vascon woman. They held their spears level and would strike her through in mere strides.
The rider on her right seemed to baulk suddenly and turned violently away from the chase.
Caros ignored the man and watched in mounting despair as the other rider drew back his spear and rammed it forward, angling to take Beaugissa in the lower back. It was a thrust common among raiders wanting to disable fleeing women while leaving them alive long enough to use in foul ways. Caros rose upright, still too far away to be of any use, and screamed his war cry.
Yet Beaugissa rode on while her attacker floundered in a haze of dust. Caros stared in confusion before he realized that Beaugissa had successfully maneuvered the pack horses into her attacker’s mount.
Caros growled and raced his horse harder. Ahead of him, the rider that had veered away from the chase had slowed his mount to a standstill and was pawing in agony at a spear embedded in his gut. Caros’ swung his arm as though swinging a whip and his falcata cleaved the rider’s head effortlessly. He charged on and saw Rappo bursting from out of the brush and rough ground to the right.
The Masulian’s face was grim and he held a brace of light spears in his hand. Together, they raced after Beaugissa and the rider who had resumed the chase and was again upon her in moments.
The attacker must have heard their mounts, for he glanced over his shoulder and his eyes widened fearfully.
Caros and Rappo were running him down with expressions of savagery etched into their faces and the rider immediately broke off the chase, swerving past Beaugissa and pounding away ahead of her.
They flew past her on either side, racing after the man, but Rappo’s smaller mount slowed as they took a slight rise in the trail and then dropped back fast. At the crest of the rise, Caros could sense his own mount begin to flag too. The fleeing rider clearly had the fresher horse and pounded off south, widening the distance with every stride.
Caros cursed and pulled back on the reins. He slowed to a stop, panting while his horse’s lathered flanks heaved and steamed. The rider was already disappearing into the distance.
Beaugissa had returned to the scene of the initial clash and Caros found her there on her hands and knees, emptying her stomach.
Rappo looked solemnly at him from where he knelt beside her.
Maleric was laying slumped over the neck of the still twitching body of his mount.
Caros swung a leg over his mount’s withers and dropped to the ground to run to the Gaul, hoping his heart still pumped blood.
Falling to his knees beside the man’s body, he grabbed him by his leather and iron armor and heaved.
Maleric rolled to his knees, his eyes wet with tears, but otherwise unharmed.
“Runeovex have mercy! I thought you were done for!” Caros gasped.
Maleric cuffed his face into his leather sleeve, wiping the tears, sweat and dirt from his face.
“Not today. I had to tend the horse.” He dropped his short blade, its edge dull with blood and matted horse hair. “Beast was in horrible agony.”
Caros laid a hand on the Gaul’s shoulder. “We are still alive.”
Maleric smiled thinly. “Bastards rode off though. Both of them. I could not get close to them.”
“Well two of them will not be bragging about how long their dicks are tonight.”
“Three of them.” Rappo spoke from behind Caros who turned quickly.
A warrior lay groaning nearby, his face a mask of blood and dirt. Caros rose swift
ly and Maleric growled, following him over to the dazed man. This was the rider that had gone over his mount’s neck. That his fellow riders had not thought to carry him away when they fled, said much about their nature.
The fallen rider struggled to his elbow and tried to draw his blade which lay trapped in the scabbard beneath his hip. Maleric kicked the man in the chest, slamming him back down. Sliding his leather sandal to the rider’s throat, he pinned him to the ground.
With the rider subdued by the Gaul, Caros turned to the fourth member of the party, Beaugissa. He knelt beside her where she rested on her knees, hair disheveled and tunic twisted. She grimaced and spat bile at her feet. With a low groan, she wiped her forearm across her mouth as a shudder shook her.
Caros laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You rode like the very wind.”
She shook her head and blinked rapidly, her hand covering his before she fell against his broad chest. There she fought hard to overcome her fright and for the space of a few deep breaths she clutched him. All too soon she pulled away, again wiping her face with the sleeve of her tunic.
Recomposing her expression, she spoke. “Thank you for coming after me. How did they catch me so easily?”
Caros laughed, “Easily? They worked to catch you Beaugissa, even with the fresher horses. Big mounts as well.” He smiled at her stern face. “Oh, and you trailed two pack-horses. Next time leave them behind and you will probably get away.” He laughed at her surprise.
“But the gold! I could not let them have that. What of your oath to the Andosini?” Her eyes told him she was serious.
His smile withered and his voice thickened. “Of course, you should have. You think the gold or my oath more valuable than your life? You believe I think that?” He shook his head at her. “If there is a next time, just flee.” He turned away from her, from the loyalty he saw in her face. She would have died trying to save a couple of sacks of metal that did not even belong to her. Somewhere in the Vascon lands was a very fortunate graybeard.
“Well, who is he?”
Maleric had a spear pressed to the man’s throat, the edge of the long blade stretched from beneath the man’s ear to the center of his throat where the hair of his chest poked above the stiff padded tunic jacket he wore.
Caros rapped his own blade on the circular bronze breastplate strapped to the rider’s chest. It was good quality as were the rider’s war tunic, braccae and bound leather sandals.
“Will not say a word.” Maleric looked at Caros. “Do we give a shit? I say slice his throat and bleed the bastard out.”
Caros looked into the rider’s dark eyes, one of which was blackened and swollen to the size of a buzzard’s egg.
“Your companions did not value your life much. Yet, you are not just some hill-warrior with a horse.” He watched the man laying unmoving, one good eye twitching spasmodically, the only sign of fear.
“Come now, tell me your name at least.” Caros grunted impatiently, suddenly nervous. The two riders that had fled might be fetching reinforcements at that very moment. Roman auxiliaries could appear from any direction. The longer they remained there, the greater their chances of discovery by an enemy.
Maleric too seemed to feel the need to hurry things along and he twisted the heavy heel of his sandal into the man’s groin. “Speak!”
The rider’s face screwed up in pain and he heaved futilely at Maleric’s foot with his hands. Maleric grinned evilly at him and slowly released the pressure. “Now tell us your name and why you attacked us?”
The rider hacked and coughed for a moment, then croaked out his name. Before he had finished speaking, Rappo pounced, taking everyone by surprise.
The young Masulian lunged past Caros, his short knife flashed once in the sun and buried in the rider’s eye. The rider gave a short squeal and his legs scrabbled and kicked the dirt. A dark stain gathered at the man’s groin and the stink of shit grew overwhelmingly.
Maleric hopped back with a curse, his mouth a surprised circle. Caros, likewise stepped back quickly.
Rappo pulled on the knife and the man’s head lifted off the ground only to thump back lifelessly when the blade came free. Rappo wiped the blade on the dead rider’s tunic, smearing blood and gray globules on the material.
“By Saur.” Caros whispered the god of death’s name in disbelief. “Why?”
Rappo’s eyes were hooded as he sheathed his blade. He looked around as though dazed before stumbling to his horse. Springing lightly to its back, he urged it at a canter up the slope in the direction they had been traveling before the attack.
Beaugissa called after him, but he gave no sign of hearing. She looked at Caros who simply shook his head.
“Likely we would have killed him in any case.” Maleric muttered. The sudden death of the rider seemed to cast a pall over them all.
Chapter 14
Their journey north passed without further attacks. They skirted isolated villages and vigilantly watched for any sign of pursuit by the kin of the riders that had attacked them. Rappo refused to talk to Caros about his reason for killing the rider and despite the young Masulian’s obvious liking for Beaugissa, not even she could get him to talk of it. On the third morning they rode into the Andosinni settlement that was home to Jornican to whom Caros had pledged to bring the gold that was due his people from the Barcas.
The settlement occupied the summit of a low hill among steep mountains. The thin soil in these high hills limited the crops grown. Instead, the Andosinni raised flocks of brown sheep and fat cattle, grazing them in the high mountain pastures or grassy valley meadows. Their first sign of the Andosinni settlement was the lowing of cattle.
They rode single file along a narrow track, uneven underfoot due to the many tree roots that protruded from the thin soil. The new sun struggled through a dense fog and the little sunlight that shone through was broken into a weak and dappled light beneath the trees that towered over the trail.
Caros rode at the head of the short line. He noticed the trail begin to descend to what looked like a meadow beyond the trees. He signaled to the others to hold while he scouted ahead for signs of danger. When the trees thinned and he saw the fog shrouded meadow ahead, he dismounted and tied the reins to a fallen branch. On foot, he made his way cautiously to the tree line. He heard another deep bellow, the sound muffled by the fog. Adjusting his cloak, he shivered in the cold mountain air. The fog was thick enough to leave a sheen of cold moisture on his arms and legs. He let his eyes adjust to the marginally brighter light and caught glimpses of the cattle scattered haphazardly across the meadow. He paused as the lowing came again. Where there were this many cattle, there would be herdsmen. This was surely Andosinni land. While they raised sheep and even pigs, their true wealth and pride were their cattle. An Andosinni warrior was only half a man unless he owned at least a few head of cattle.
Caros detected the sweet smell of fresh cow manure. In the silence between the lowing he could hear the beasts pulling up mouthfuls of the summer’s growth and rhythmically chewing. He stepped from the tree line and squinted into the distance. He saw what he thought was the line of a roof or wall through the fog on the further side of the meadow. A cow spotted him and lifted its head, grass hung from its mouth, liquid bovine eyes gazing at him with mild curiosity. Then it swished its tail and turned away to continue grazing.
Caros heard another cow snort on his left. The creature stood proudly, facing him with malign intelligence in its eyes. It huffed and snorted again, stamped a foreleg into the earth and viciously gouged a clod of thin soil and grass. Tossing its horned head, it gave vent to a challenging bellow before lowering its horns to point menacingly at Caros. It was no docile cow this, Caros realized as he watched the horns, each as long as his leg and as thick at the base as his upper arm. This was the master of the herd. The sire of next season’s calves and judging from the girth of the beast’s neck, the sire of numerous past seasons of calves as well. The bull bellowed again and the force caused the fog to clea
r between it and Caros.
“Oh, sweet Taracus!” Caros murmured before turning to run for the trees. Behind him, the ground shook as the bull bellowed and charged, clods of soil thrown high by its pounding hooves. Caros ran hard, stretching his legs and pumping his arms. He had surely just stepped beyond the trees and yet here he was, seemingly stades from them. The need to see how close the beast was became too powerful. He snapped his head around and squawked in horror. The gigantic creature was already at his back, its horns leveled like a pair of spears. His foot struck the root of a tree and in the next instant he was sailing through the air. He struck the ground and slid to a jarring halt against a broad tree trunk. With his ears ringing and lights dancing before his eyes, he curled into a ball to protect his loins and guts from the wicked horns which he expected in the next moment.
The bellowing became shouts and cries and then a man was looking down at him from horseback, his face split into a wide, toothless grin.
“Thief, you picked the wrong herd today.” A spearhead filled Caros’ sight, blocking out the face of the horseman.
“Not a thief! I am a friend of Jornican!”
Fog beaded on the rusty blade and formed a small droplet on the very tip of the spear. Caros stared mesmerized until it fattened and dripped into his eye.
“May I at least stand? As warm as cow shit is, I would prefer to be stabbed to death while not laying in it.”
A voice from beyond the spear. “He is with us. If you open his head, do so on the left side, it would at least balance that ugly worm of a scar he already has.”
“Maleric! You are not helping!”
“Oh, you wanted help? But you were doing so well there rolling like a hound in scat.”
The spear trembled a moment longer before lifting.
Caros lowered his hands from his face. He had not been aware he had raised them. Pushing himself to his knees, he angrily shook his cloak, soaked by the wet grass. The reek of fresh cow dung was no longer sweet, instead, he gagged as he saw the quantity of green spongy shit coating his lower legs.
Gladius Winter Page 17