Rappo had alerted Caros to the line of refugees that crossed their route south. Riding after him, they reached a vantage point overlooking the trail and drew up. Behind them the Andosinni warriors came on steadily up the hill.
“They are fleeing from the lands occupied by the Romans, yes?” Rappo asked.
Caros gritted his teeth. “Probably. It is not the season for traveling with old and young.” Caros pointed at the ominous clouds.
Maleric shook his head. “Not many warriors among that lot if raiders come upon them.”
The thought made Caros go cold. The harvests were in and this was the season when bands of warriors would gather to raid and plunder neighboring tribes. He estimated maybe two dozen likely warriors among the hundreds of people on the trail below them. A band of fifty raiders would wreak havoc if they came upon these people. The carts piled with food, the young women, the livestock, these would all be an irresistible temptation for any raiders.
“We should offer to escort them south.” Beaugissa spoke with conviction, the concern plain on her face.
Behind them, the first of the Andosinni warriors marched over the hill. They too stopped and stared down at the refugees. Most of them were experiencing life as a warrior for the first time, although their ranks also contained older men to guide and teach them the art of war as they knew it. These men would have seen such columns. As the Volcae infringed on their lands they may even have been forced to flee in much the same way.
Caros agreed with Beaugissa although he was not sure Hanno would welcome the burden.
More Andosinni arrived and naturally they spread out along the ridge to stare down at the luckless people below.
“We can offer. They may already have a destination in mind.” He urged his horse down the hill with the others following.
From below came a scream, hardly heard in the stiff westerly breeze. A wave of motion swept through the ranks of the people walking. Now the screams came louder and Caros saw people begin to run. It was Beaugissa who realized what was happening.
She shouted in dismay. “They are fleeing from us!”
Turning to her, Caros saw the hundred Andosinni warriors fanned out on either side of them. He cursed himself. Of course, the people had seen them and thought they were about to fall on them as raiders.
“Hold here!” He looked for the leading Andosinni. Catching sight of the graybeard, Caros gestured to him. “Hian, take the warriors back over the hill. The people fear we are raiders!”
Hian looked surprised for a heartbeat before nodded his understanding. Bawling at the young bloods scattered around him and slapping warriors to the left and right, he quickly herding them back over the hill and out of sight.
Already the chaos below was pitiful. A mule wagon lay smashed beside a boulder, women and children were fleeing for the hillside opposite, a desultory few warriors were trying to rush others on down the trail.
“Slowly now!” Caros rode down the hill, his hands outstretched and weaponless.
Beaugissa, likewise rode a few paces to his left. Maleric remained seated on his horse, face bunched glumly, knowing that the sight of a Gaul would make matters worse.
“That group of warriors there.” Caros pointed and waved. “They appear to be the calmest. We will speak with them so they can reassure the rest.”
Indeed, there was one small handful of warriors clustered together beside a wagon. Their faces appeared as pale slabs beneath their helms as they stared up the hill down which Caros and Beaugissa rode.
Caros noted with dismay that many of the fleeing people had simply dropped their few possessions and fled. Among those belongings lay injured or ill people, some still trying to crawl to safety.
The small band of warriors looked ready to flee, their spears were leveled at Caros and Beaugissa, but they looked over their shoulders as often as they looked at the riders.
As soon as he was near enough, Caros hailed them, empty palms still held aloft, “Fear not, we have not come to plunder!”
If they heard, they gave no sign, but moved tighter together.
He called again, “We mean you no harm! We travel south! We are not here to attack you!”
His words must have been heard now. They were close enough that he could tell the warriors were in truth no older than Rappo or the many Andosinni who for the most part had now disappeared from sight as he had instructed them to. Still, they held their spears before them and even backed around the wagon which was listing over a deep rut in the track that had snapped its front axle.
“You try. A woman’s voice might make a difference.”
Beaugissa did not hesitate and rode ahead of Caros, who slowed his mount. “I am Beaugissa of the Vascon. My friends and I are not here to make war on you. You may even travel under our escort if you wish.”
As the warriors conferred, Caros looked after the many others that had run out of breath and were scrambling to hide on the bare slope on the other side of the track. He noticed a woman laying exhausted behind a boulder no larger than her swollen belly, trying to still a child of just a few years who wailed in fright.
“Your people need not flee. The warriors above are Andosinni, they are not raiders.” Beaugissa’s tone became frustrated. “Look at your women and children fleeing in terror. They need not. Look at your ill and your mothers laying in the dirt. Call them and reassure them. You have my word as a warrioress of the Vascon that we mean no harm.”
At last this seemed to strike home. A young man stepped from behind the cart, his spear lowered.
“Truly? We are few, but we will fight to the death if you break your word.”
Caros suppressed a sad smile. “Truly.” He called.
The terrified people were fleeing ahead of a storm of iron wielded by Roman auxiliaries who had attacked a cluster of villages near the coast. As the women returned to the trail to pick up their scattered belongings and help their old and ill, Caros listened to the young warrior’s account of the one-sided fighting. Many of the Lacetani warriors had gathered at the cluster of villages from across their lands two days earlier. The purpose was to argue the merits of siding with the Romans or allying with the tribes that stood with the Barcas of Carthage.
The young Lacetani warrior, named Canzio, twisted his spear nervously in his hands as he spoke.
“It was exciting. I had never seen so many of our people in one place. There were clans from the north, south and west all gathered together.”
Caros could imagine the excitement and enormity of the occasion for the youth.
“The first day the elders spoke for a long time. They all told of the peace they wanted and of the riches that would come from trade with Rome.” He paused and wiped his sweaty palms on his dirt-gray tunic before resuming, “The second day started out with other warriors talking of fighting the Barcas.” He paused again uncertainly as he eyed Caros, remembering perhaps that Caros fought for the Barcas.
“By midday, the elders had agreed we would support Rome and if called on, would fight for them.” His voice grew strained. Lowering his face, he continued. “The Romans must not have understood for the roasting fires were just being lit for the feasts when they came.” He cuffed away tears that sprang from his eyes. “They did not speak with us. They simply rode out of the hills and attacked.”
Beaugissa brought the youth a jug of ale and sat beside him, the act steadying him.
“The elders called for calm and went to speak to the Romans. I did not see what happened to them, but I heard the screams. My father and uncles had their spears and before they went, father told me to pack food and take my mother and sisters and flee to the hills.” He tried to mask his heaving chest by sipping from the jug he gripped. “I could not find my sisters and my mother had a deep wound. I carried her all night, but she turned cold and her shade fled in the night.” He finished the ale and frowned into the bottom of the jug. “The few people here are the only ones that escaped.”
“Where are you heading?” Car
os asked gently.
Canzio shook his head. “To the hills. Some journeyed to the gathering from their villages there and they say it will be safer.”
It made sense for them to seek shelter among their own kind in villages located in the mountains to the west.
“How many days travel?”
The Lacetani youth shook his head, “I do not know, three?”
Beaugissa warned Caros off with a look. “Can you ask someone?”
Confused, Canzio nodded and rose to find one of the villagers from the mountains.
Beaugissa watched him go, her distress liquid in her eyes. She turned presently to Caros. “We will escort them?
Maleric, who had been sitting inconspicuously against the wooden wall of a wagon wheel, cleared his throat. “Not if you want to be back with Hanno before Hasdrubal arrives.”
Caros looked around at the desperate remnants of the Lacetani. They had collected their strewn possessions, and many were already heading west, afraid to linger. He knew that Maleric was right. Hasdrubal could arrive any day now at Hanno’s camp. Once he did, the Carthaginians would march swiftly to confront the Romans. Caros desperately wanted to be in that final battle to see the legionaries and auxiliaries defeated.
“We will travel on to Hanno.” He saw the protest flare on Beaugissa’s face and forestalled it. “But, I will ask thirty of the Andosinni to escort them.”
Maleric nodded. Beaugissa frowned a moment, but also seemed appeased. Caros looked now at Rappo who still carried some burden on his shoulders and had done since killing the fallen rider. “Rappo, if you ride with those Andosinni, could you guide them on to Hanno’s encampment?”
The Masulian nodded without his usual enthusiasm. Caros caught Beaugissa’s concerned expression, but it was Maleric that acted. He rose nimbly, belying his massive size.
“Come, let us have a look around.” He placed a firm hand on Rappo’s shoulder and guided him along the trail.
Canzio returned moments later with a frail looking graybeard limping in tow. The cause of the limp was a fresh wound below his knee. Although dressed with a strip of linen and smelling strongly of vinegar, blood still seeped from the dressing.
The graybeard stared sullenly at Caros and Beaugissa while Canzio told them the old man had said the distance was four days, probably closer to six with the injured slowing them down. He glanced at the man’s injured leg.
“Would you accept an escort of Andosinni warriors?” Caros asked the graybeard.
The man’s face registered surprise followed by clear relief. “That would be a great kindness. May you know the mercy of Endovex, warrior.” The graybeard responded gratefully.
Caros watched as the thirty Andosinni warriors who had volunteered to accompany the Lacetani, marched away with Rappo riding his mount beside Hian who had insisted on leading the warriors. The wind had risen and there were vivid flashes of lightning far to the west. He sent a plea to Runeovex to spare the Lacetani survivors a storm for they had already endured too much.
“So did you learn anything from Rappo?” Caros at last turned to Maleric. Beaugissa sidled her mount closer.
The Gaul gazed bleakly after the retreating warriors and Lacetani. “I did and you will not like it.” His voice was somber. Caros did not reply, but waited. Maleric sighed, “He recognized the rider. An Ilerget.” He looked at Caros, “One of Ensillia’s warriors and a personal guard of her daughter.” Caros frowned and Beaugissa gasped. Maleric nodded. “Rappo killed him to stop him talking. He did not want you to learn of the man’s connection to the girl.”
Caros squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled deeply. The girl had spoken of the gold and Ensillia had sent her warriors to kill them and take it. That was the only explanation for the sudden attack.
“Caros, do not blame Rappo.” Beaugissa spoke softly into the wind.
He wanted to. He wanted to wrap his hands around the youth’s neck. “Of course I will not. Ensillia though…” She was a snake and Caros would find a way to visit a fitting end on her.
Using the waning daylight, Caros led his companions and the rest of the Andosinni on towards Hanno’s encampment. Before the sun had set, they came across another small column of Lacetani struggling in a panic to repair a cart which had a shattered wheel. As with the last column, this consisted mostly of women and just two warriors. A burly youth and a one-armed graybeard. They too, were fleeing the Romans.
The following day, they encountered more and more refugees, mostly Lacetani, but also Indiketes fleeing south from their lands around the Greek port of Empúries where the bulk of the Roman army had landed. On the third day they at last descended along the trail into the encampment.
“Hanno still has an army of sorts.” Maleric pointed out.
It was true. There were still large gaps in the lines where the Ilerget had been camped, but many had filled in with newcomers. This was good news for Caros, especially as he had failed to recruit any decent sized force from among the Lacetani.
Hanno received Caros in his pavilion headquarters. The Carthaginian was looking drawn and his shoulders slumped. Caros expected him to be angered at the failure to recruit warriors to replace the Ilerget, but Hanno waved away Caros’ apologies.
“It was a gamble. From what you tell me and the stream of refugees that have arrived, the Romans have alienated the Lacetani.” He gestured to a pewter jug of wine. “Help yourself.” He grinned suddenly at Caros. “You have come straight here so you will not have seen that more warriors have joined us.”
Caros poured two cups of wine and passed one to Hanno. “I noticed there were more warriors than I had expected.” He stopped with the cup of wine halfway to his lips. “My people?” He dared.
Hanno nodded and raised his own cup to drink. “They arrived two days ago. Not many, a thousand, but I remember the Bastetani as hard men and good fighters. That thousand will go a long way to helping.”
“Who is their leading man?”
“An old friend of yours.”
After describing to Hanno all he had observed in the north and of the massacre of Lacetani by the Romans, he excused himself. Hurrying through the lines, he called for and received directions to the Bastetani warriors’ tents. Approaching them, he felt a curious sense of homecoming. Bastetani warriors thronged the wide spaced between the tent lines, excitement in their familiar accents as they settled into the encampment.
A couple of them jostling one another, pulled up straight when Caros spoke. “I am looking for Neugen of Tagut. Do you know where I can find him?”
They were young, but had battle scars to prove they had fought. They eyed him for a heartbeat, trying to match the Vascon garments and colors with his Bastetani accent.
“He is busy with the horses. How do you know Neugen?”
Caros smiled. “He is the best tracker in all the world and would laugh and crack a joke even with Saur’s hounds at his heels. We hunted and fought together. With the horses?”
Proud and amazed that their leading man’s name was known so far north, they pointed the direction to the Bastetani horse lines.
Caros spotted Neugen leaning against a post, arms crossed over his chest, shouting advice to a young rider who was taking a deep chested mare in circles around a rough track.
Caros stopped a few paces away from Neugen who turned lazily to see who had approached. The skin about his eyes creased and his smile grew wide upon seeing Caros.
“Ho! It has been a while my friend.” Neugen straightened and they embraced, laughing aloud, each pounding the other’s shoulders.
Pulling apart, Neugen looked Caros up and down. “Let you out of my sight for a heartbeat and you take up with the first lot that will have you.” He plucked at the faded red Vascon tunic. “Vascon? Any self-respecting Bastetani would rather go naked.”
Caros stepped back. “You look better than the last time I saw you. You were growing a good-sized gut. Wife not feeding you anymore?”
Neugen patted his trim belly. “I hav
e been busy, my friend. You would not believe how little I see my wife.”
“Come, I will provide the meat and ale while you tell me all about home.” Caros slapped Neugen’s chest and wrapped his arm over his shoulders.
Sitting around the cook fire outside the tent, a steady supply of ale to wash down the spitted beef, Caros caught up with the news of happenings among the Bastetani. He had hoped for news of rebuilding, growth and plenty. With grim efficiency, Neugen disappointed him.
“The Turdetani have Hasdrabul’s ear. None of our leading men’s petitions make a jot of difference.” Neugen swigged back ale, wiped his lips and burped. “Started not long after Hasdrubal returned from the north. Mid-summer. He went straight to the Barca holdings in Cartagena and remained there till the end of harvests.” Neugen drained his cup. “The Turdetani leading men softened his mind with silver and ale. They used their own daughters to soften the rest of him. Shagged him stupid.”
Maleric, mending his braccae again, hissed when he stabbed his finger with the bone needle. He sucked at the puncture and then spoke, “This is the same Hasdrubal that is going to defeat the Romans?”
Caros grunted. “He is.” To Neugen, “What has he done?”
Neugen’s face grew hard. “He sold much of the land on our western border, not even discussing it with us. The first we knew of it, the Turdetani were swallowing up our lands. They came with so many scripts and Barca seals that our leading men could not tell day from night.” Neugen cursed and spat. “We would fight, but Hasdrubal will back the Turdetani and we would lose still more land and those warriors not killed would be levied.”
Caros had returned from Hannibal’s army so that he could take up his father’s role as a merchant of note and help smooth Bastetani relations with the Carthaginians and surrounding tribes. The Bastetani were a shadow of their past days of glory and were bordered on all sides, by larger more numerous tribes. Although there were few warriors as brave and hardy as the Bastetani, their people needed to make stronger alliances and build better relations.
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