Gladius Winter

by J Glenn Bauer

  “You ride downwind till you have washed.” Beaugissa’s eyes danced with laughter and even Rappo, morose since he had slain the rider, wore a grin.

  He noticed figures on foot filing through the fog and towards the far side of the valley and looked up at the horseman.

  “I am Caros of the Bastetani.”

  “I know. Was chatting to your friends there on the trail when we heard you scream.”

  Caros blushed red. “Pretty sure I did not scream.”

  Maleric. “Like a girl.”

  Beaugissa nodded and Rappo’s grin grew wider.

  Caros tossed them a vulgar gesture, eliciting a snort of laughter from the horseman.

  “I am Deo. I remember you well, Caros. I rode with Jornican and fought at Olot against Gualbes.”

  Rappo led Caros’ horse through the fog and after wiping his legs down with handfuls of moist grass, he mounted.

  “That was a tight battle. The Andosinni fought bravely to a man.”

  “Kind of you.” Deo gave his wide toothless smile. “That is where I lost all my teeth.” He flicked his reins and led them through the fog. “Some hairy bastard of an Aeronosii punched me right in the old gob with the wrong end of his sword. Inbred bastards.”

  Caros looked around tenderly, his neck and shoulder burned all over again from the collision with the tree. His movement did not go unnoticed.

  “Looking for your horny friend, Caros?” Beaugissa’s laughter rang like bells through the foggy meadow and the others followed suit. Caros grinned and rolled his eyes.

  Deo pointed wordlessly. The bull, massive in the fog, was eating straw from the hand of a child. “We named him Feldorko. He is like a puppy, unless he doesn’t know you. Then not so much.”

  Orko was the revered god of mountain and rock. Many sons among the northern Iberian peoples were named Feldorko after the god.

  “Well named. He sounded like a landslide sent by the god.”

  Deo chortled and clapped his thigh in delight at the praise. “He has a good set of lungs. You can thank them for alerting us.”

  “How fares Jornican?” Caros asked.

  A stiff breeze had risen, blowing from the north and chilling Caros to the bone. The palisade that surrounded the settlement rose before them through the dissipating fog.

  Deo plugged a nostril and noisily blew a stream of phlegm from the other. “Well. He is very well.”

  They crossed the meadow and followed a stony track part way up a hill to the just-opened gates of the Andosinni settlement. Women and girls were streaming out carrying stools and pots for the morning milking. Younger children ran fat bellied and naked between the legs of all, laughing or wailing for no obvious reason to Caros. Dogs barked excitedly and bounded around the mounts until they were scattered out the gate by a few well aimed kicks, to follow the scent of fresh milk.

  They dismounted at a well set around with a low stone wall, the ground around a press of stone and broken fired clay pieces and slick with mud. Deo pointed to Jornican’s home uphill from there. “Jornican’s place is the one with the big blue amphora at the door.” Then he pointed to his right. “My place is the one with the big hole in the thatch. I will put your horses with the others and the boys will take them out to graze in a while.” He grinned at Caros. “There is clean water in the well.” He ran an eye over the poor job Caros had made of wiping the dung from his legs.

  They dismounted and removed their travel packs and the two weighty satchels from the pack horses.

  “Right, I’m going to my cot for a sleep. Been up on watch half the night. Come by if you feel like helping me mend the roof later.” Deo left with the horses.

  Caros hauled a bucket of water up and cursed when he felt how cold it was. He stripped down to his small clothes and doused himself. The water took his breath away and he reluctantly dropped the bucket into the well for more. Rappo found a second bucket and laid Caros filthy clothes on a washing board. While Caros splashed more water over his body, shivering and cursing, Rappo beat and wrung the clothes clean.

  Maleric lounged in the early morning sun, drawing hostile looks from the old women that passed. In contrast, Beaugissa sat on a boulder worn smooth by generations of people. Her looks and curves drawing the attention of passing boys and the few old men that were up.

  Wiping his body dry, Caros saw Beaugissa’s attention wonder from the villagers to him. Her gaze travelled over his broad chest, narrow waist and powerful legs. Now wearing only his loose small cloth, he cursed inwardly as his body reacted. He turned his back on her, but not before she noticed, her eyes growing round and cheeks reddening.

  With his back to her, he quickly drew on his spare tunic, belted up the straps of his leather sandals and threw a blanket across his shoulders, since his coat was too wet.

  Rappo had draped the wet garments over a fence of plaited branches and now handed Caros his belt and scabbard housing his falcata.

  A group of women descended on the well with bundles of garments to be washed, giggling to one another and whispering furiously.

  Caros picked up his helmet and signaled to the others he was ready. They made their way uphill to the house with the blue amphora standing cracked and lopsided to the side of the sturdy door which opened to emit scattering of very young children followed by two young women.

  They pulled up short on seeing Caros, their eyes darkening.

  He smiled. “Greetings. We are here to visit Jornican?”

  One of the women turned and shouted into the darkness beyond the door. “Jornican! Strangers wish to see you!” She smiled hesitantly at Caros, glared at Maleric and led her companion away by the arm.

  Aggrieved, Maleric moaned. “Is there something on my face? I do not seem very well liked here by the women. They have been stabbing me with their eyes ever since we arrived.”

  A tall man emerged from the doorway. “When our women see Gauls, it is usually over the dead bodies of their families.” There was a hard edge to his voice.

  Caros took in the long bony face he remembered so well from the past spring. “Jornican! Greetings.”

  Jornican’s gaunt face unstiffened. “By Endovex! I had not thought I would see you again young Caros!”

  The Andosinni threw his arms wide and engulfed Caros with them, half lifting him in his embrace.

  Caros laughed as Jornican set him down. “You are well?”

  “As can be, Caros. You on the other hand look like a man who has not seen much comfort in a long while.” He looked Caros over before turning to the others. “You come with strange companions. A Gaul.” He gave Maleric a hard look. “A Masulian.” He appraised Rappo and turned to Beaugissa, “And a ah… fearsome warrioress.” He smiled charmingly, or at least as charmingly as the bones of his face would allow.

  “They are good people. Mostly.” Caros replied dryly. “I also come bearing what I swore to return to your people.” He prodded the satchel he had dropped at his feet and nodded to the other slung over Maleric’s shoulder.

  Jornican studied the satchels before nodding gravely. “Truly? You bring Barca’s riches?”

  “Two talents of it.” He grinned. “Thought you might find it useful.”

  “Oh, yes. It has been a quiet summer, but that could change any day now that the harvest season is over.” Jornican’s face was a study of shadows and light, his eyes bright with emotion. “You are a true friend, Caros.” He swallowed and shook himself. “Forgive me, you have travelled long to get here and by the looks of it without much to eat. We will remedy that.”

  Jornican had the Andosinni lay on a feast that day. Two of Feldorco’s bull calves from the previous year were sacrificed and set over great fire pits. Ale, freshly brewed from that summer’s grains, flowed like a river and before sundown the Andosinni were stamping their feet and singing while drums beat.

  Caros sat with Jornican, their backs against a west-facing stone wall, a jug of ale between their knees.

  “No raiders then from the north? Volcae?�
� Caros enquired.

  Jornican growled. “The Volcae have been especially quiet. Maybe they saw the strength of Hannibal’s columns and decided not to poke the bear.”

  “And the peace with Castrodubis of the Aeronosii?”

  “Holds. No, aside from the battle against Gualbes in spring, this has been one of the more peaceful years I can remember in a long while.” Jornican frowned uncomfortably as he spoke. “The same cannot be said further south I hear?”

  “True enough. You know the Romans have come in force?”

  “Aye. They would, since Sagunt was an allied city.” He flicked a stone at a bitch with swollen teats that came too close, sniffing for morsels from the feast. “The Barcas have not done battle either. That is a surprise.”

  Caros watched the bitch slinking up to an Andosinni youth who held a portion of greasy meat loosely in his hand while he upended a bowl of ale into his mouth.

  “Hanno waits for the Barca, Hasdrubal. Once he arrives they will strike and that day is drawing close.”

  The bitch lunged, jaws closing over the meat and snatching it away from the youth who spluttered curses before throwing the bowl after the fleeing hound.

  Jornican was looking at Caros. “You want to know for who the Andosinni will declare?”

  Surprised, Caros shook his head. “Not at all. Your people have enough of a task keeping the Volcae in line to the north.”

  Appeased, Jornican nodded. “Good. This war between the Barcas and Rome, I fear it will not be like any war we have seen before.” He looked across the men and women gathered around the fires, sitting before the tale-tellers and singing with the musicians. “Still, you need allies. Some of my warriors have already spoken of fighting. Rather that they fight for you than for the Barcas or Rome.”

  Caros’ heart lifted to his throat. “I am no leading man Jornican.”

  The Andosinni cut him off. “Yet you are, Caros. I watched you closely in the spring, saw how you arranged Castrodubis and I, set us together against that snake Gualbes and then brought us victory and gold.” Jornican smiled grimly. “In any event, it is not like I am giving you a thousand warriors. Instead, a little under a hundred and most of them young and unblooded.”

  Caros took up the jug and drank deeply, tasting the past summer’s sun and sweet meadow grain in the fresh ale.

  “I would be honored to lead them.” He passed the jug to Jornican who too drank. “What of your southern neighbors, the Lacetani? Do you know of any that will fight for the Barcas?”

  Jornican wiped his mouth and grimaced. “They are poor warriors and will side with whoever seems certain to be victorious.” He shrugged. “I know of some that might fight, but do not be disappointed if they turn you away.”

  The ride south had been slower owing to the hundred Andosinni warriors having to march as they had no mounts. Now, two days since leaving Jornican’s settlement, they were approaching a large Lacetani village, set around the summit of a low rocky hill. It was a fine looking settlement with good stout walls.

  This was where the Andosinni scout had brought them to recruit the warriors Jornican thought might fight the Romans.

  The day was unseasonably warm, the sun beating down on the column of warriors from its zenith in the cloudless blue sky. Caros removed his helm and wiped away the sweat that soaked his brow.

  He studied the Lacetani warriors that stood scattered across the steep slope leading to the crooked palisade that encircled their homes and families.

  “They look friendly.” Maleric commented sourly.

  “Jornican says of all the Lacetani, this lot still hold to the old ways from before the Greeks arrived and corrupted those living on the coast.” Caros narrowed his eyes to better see a throng of riders emerge from the gates to the village which promptly shut as the last rode out.

  These would be their top warriors and elders. He replaced his helm and tied the strap beneath his chin.

  “Maleric, settle the Andosinni here where they will not unnerve the Lacetani. Beaugissa, will you ride with me?”

  Maleric frowned. “You think they would prefer a woman to a Gaul?”

  Caros laughed. “You saw the way the Andosinni behaved before they realized you sported no horns or cleft hooves. This lot will have suffered Volcae raids as well.” Caros reasoned.

  Maleric feigned a hurt look. “Now he says I look like a Volcae. Might just as well grow horns.”

  Beaugissa flicked her wrist at Maleric, her meaning clear enough, but she could not resist adding. “Doubt you could grow a single horn let alone a pair.”

  Maleric huffed and hid a grin behind his bushy mustache.

  Taking the Gaul’s place at Caros’ side, the pair rode forward.

  The Lacetani riders numbered a dozen and milled around midway between the base of the hill and the gates behind them. Caros and Beaugissa walked their horses up the hill towards their spears.

  “They do not look happy.” Beaugissa observed.

  Caros was aware of the hard scowls, not just of the Lacetani riders ahead of them, but of those warriors ranged across the hill and flanking them.

  “They would not be. They have strange new neighbors who may already have paid them off.”

  Beaugissa glanced at him. “If that is the case they may very well capture us and hand us over to the Romans.”

  Caros grinned. “That is why I brought you along. I may be able to escape while you distract them.”

  She fingered the short blade at her side and shot him an evil look.

  A Lacetani rider separated from the others and came towards them. Narrow set eyes glowered at them from beneath the rim of his bronze helm. Sunlight gleamed off the three bronze plates riveted to the hard leather cuirass and in his fist he carried a long spear with a polished iron spearhead.

  “Strangers! State your business! Why do you bring warriors to our lands?” His voice was indignant.

  Pulling gently on his reins Caros brought his mount to a standstill and raised his palms.

  “Greetings warriors of the Lacetani!” He called out loudly, keeping his tone firm and friendly. “I am Caros of the Bastetani. I bring words of friendship from Jornican of the Andosinni and words of friendship from the Barcas.”

  The name was alike to a firebrand under the tunic. The Lacetani riders bunched closer, spitting and growling. The warriors within earshot on the slopes of the hill hissed and lifted their spears.

  “We could still flee.” Beaugissa whispered.

  The narrow eyed rider held his gaze. “Jornican’s name is welcome here. The other is not.”

  Caros kept his palms up. “Jornican speaks highly of your people. He sends his greetings and a plea that you hear the offer I come with from the Barcas.”

  The rider gestured to the Andosinni warriors in the distance. “You bring warriors to deliver an offer. That is the way of the Barcas as always!” He spat to emphasis his anger. “What could the Barcas desire but warriors to fight their war?”

  Caros smiled. “Friendship with the Lacetani for one. The Barcas desire peace in your lands. Do the Romans bring peace?”

  “I am Thulm of the Lacetani. The Romans offer certainty. Their words count here Bastetani, servant of the Barcas.”

  Around them the loosely ranged Lacetani warriors were gathering and edging closer.

  “Caros.” Beaugissa’s voice held a warning. “We might leave now.”

  Caros eyed the warriors around them and turned to the rider named Thulm. “Jornican’s words were of respect for the warriors of this place. He said you would not accept a master. Neither Carthaginian nor Roman.” He nodded, “I see he was right. The Barcas ask not to be your masters, but your allies against the Romans invading the lands of the Lacetani.”

  “Yet you come to our land uninvited with warriors.” Thulm smiled thinly, pointing again over Caros’ shoulder.

  “The Romans, Thulm, did they come at the invitation of the Lacetani? Did they not bring many thousands of warriors uninvited to Lacetani lands?�
�

  The Lacetani stared at Caros, his face closed tight now that Caros had thrown his argument back at him.

  “These are difficult times, but the Romans will be defeated soon. Already Iberian warriors flock to the Barca banners from the south, the west and indeed the north.” He gestured to the Andosinni warriors. “The Andosinni know this. Though few, yet they are courageous. Stand with us. Stand with the Iberians of the Andosinni, Oretani, Bastetani, Turdetani and many others.”

  The rider sat motionless on his mount, his face unreadable. The warriors on the hillside had ceased closing on them and waited.

  For long, breathless heartbeats Caros waited, but his hopes were dashed when Thulm leaned to the side and spat into the dirt. “You did not mention Indibilis of the Ilerget. Strange that? Could it be the rumors we have heard are true then? Your greatest ally has turned on the Barcas?” Thulm gave a crowing laugh. “Find your warriors elsewhere servant of the Barcas. Go, take the fools that have sided with you and leave Lacetani lands.”

  Caros pursed his lips, praying for some other words that would change the warriors mind, sway his heart. Nothing came to him and so he nodded stiffly and turned away.

  The Lacetani warriors’ jeers rung loud over the hill as Caros and Beaugissa rode back to the rest of their column.

  “At least they let us go and there will be other villages.” Beaugissa reasoned.

  “If Indibilis had not broken his word to Hanno, the Lacetani might have decided differently.” Caros spat bitterly.

  Beaugissa could only nod. By turning from Hanno, Indibilis had shown the other tribes of Iberia how badly the Barcas needed them and how vulnerable they were without them.

  Chapter 15

  A trail of people snaked through the valley, making for the west. Most were on foot, although there were a handful of carts dotted among them. These contained possessions too valuable to leave behind, amphorae of oil, sacks of grain and crates of flour. Children of every age clung to the skirts of women, dogs followed and wove between stumbling legs. Warriors walked in small groups, usually clustered around the carts, to protect the foods they would need to survive the coming winter. To the east, from where they came, smoke rose in dense columns and in the west dark clouds scudded across the high ranges.