Gladius Winter

by J Glenn Bauer

  They rode through the afternoon, often encountering other mounted warriors from the encampment. These they greeted and passed without more than shouted comments being exchanged. As the sun fell lower in the west, they saw fewer of their fellows from Hanno’s forces.

  “Quiet out this way.” Maleric was the first to mention the disappearance of people from the wide road running due north.

  “Late in the day.” Caros eyed the long shadows. “Most likely already safe behind their village walls.”

  Just before sunset, a pair of scouts returned at speed, their dust lifted behind them in a plume of fiery red.

  “There has been killing ahead.” The lead scout shouted, pulling his mount up and turning the mare expertly on her hind legs. “We did not see a carrion bird or hear a sound, but this one here,” He patted his horse’s neck, “She put her ears back and let me know there was something nasty nearby.” The man was joined by his younger companion, who shook his head and held up fingers sticky with fresh blood.

  “A score and a half people slain on the road.” His voice shook with outrage.

  The sight was as grim as the second scout’s voice had implied. The bodies of men and women, hands bound at their backs, lay twisted on carpets of red matted grass and soil.

  “Ilerget.” Caros remarked, clicking calmingly to his mount through his teeth.

  Neugen pointed. “A handful of Sedetani as well, probably kin or fellow travelers.”

  Maleric hauled on the reins of his horse, made skittish by the scent of death and clouds of flies already congregating. His eyes hard, he stared down at the form of a woman heavy with child. Her throat was opened and her head twisted violently to the side, forcing the wound wider still. Beside her, his face frozen in desolation, lay the remains of a warrior, stripped of his weapons and likewise bled dry.

  He turned away with a rough grunt. “The Romans are hard bastards. They will kill whole villages for the merest slight, but they usually prefer to take slaves.”

  “There are no children here, so they must have taken them as you say, to be made slaves.” Caros sighed.

  Maleric waved a cloud of flies from his face. “Perhaps, but there are women amongst the dead of an age to make good slaves. Why not take them too?”

  Neugen shook his head, his lips pressed thin. “We should go. These people were killed after the sun peaked today.”

  Caros signaled to the milling riders, and they filed off down the trail, the dead disappearing from sight within moments.

  They saw no further people before setting camp that night. The following day, they encountered the first butchery within just a short distance of their night’s camp. A father and son, speared to death on their cart of produce. An aged ass lay dead in its traces, where it had been felled by a deft blow from an axe. Or falcata.

  Caros rode by silently and the rest took their cue from him. The pair had come from a nearby village and the circling of carrion birds in the distance foretold the scene that would greet them there too.

  The gates stood wide open and smoke lifted lazily over the haphazard palisade above the ditch surrounding the village. Maleric spat and tested the wind. The birds they had seen earlier had now descended, but there were always the stragglers. He watched as a pair of ravens tormented a buzzard while it circled closer to the village of shadows.

  Caros pulled up on the trail, his warriors fanning out behind him, all eyes turned to the village. The same pair of scouts waited in the dappled shade of a tree beside the road.

  “Have you entered?” Caros asked.

  The men shook their heads immediately. “There is no life beyond the walls.” One of the men spoke, his tone edgy with defense.

  “We do not have to go in.” Caros murmured. “It is not for us to save survivors.” He began to turn away when the second scout spat.

  “Wait. I will go and search.” He gave his companion a hard glare. “Will you wait?”

  “Of course, but do not take too long.”

  The scout rolled his eyes at that unlikelihood. Swinging from his mount, he tossed his reins to his companion and set off at a fast walk.

  Caros and the rest were still sitting their mounts in the shade or sun as it pleased them, when the scout walked from the gate. His gait was sure and steady, but without warning he veered aside and bent double. His retching loud in the quiet of the morning. He doubled over twice more while making his way back to his mount.

  His face was puffy, and eyes glazed when he arrived and hauled himself wordlessly onto his horse.

  He glared at his companion who looked away shamefaced. Turning to Caros, he began to speak, but immediately had to slide from his mount as his stomach began to heave again.

  Two hundred warriors muttered angrily and spat into the dirt to ward off the evil that lived here now.

  Caros swung down and patted the scout’s shoulder. The man stood, hands on knees, head hung low and a spool of drool swinging from his lip.

  “Any sign of who did it?”

  A shake and another dry heave. The scout dragged the sleeve of his tunic across his face, cleared his nostrils and stood. “It was hard to tell. They were killed fast and with little resistance.”

  Caros nodded. “Did you see anything that did not belong? Broken sandal? Discarded cloth. Anything that looked Roman?”

  The scout growled. “Broken and discarded? Aye! Three score villagers that had holes in them made by Romans.” The man’s anger rose with his voice. “These people may be Ilerget and Sedetani, but they deserved a better end than that.”

  There was nothing to be done for the village dead. They would take the news with them and as they circled north, they would warn any neighboring villages of the killings. Caros looked back after he had ridden a stade, his mind burning with the memories of his own village and how the dead had filled the small hillfort, his mother’s body amongst them. At times, the images felt like the memories of a stranger and then on days like this one, it was as though he had just stepped through that corpse-filled gate.

  The next Ilerget hill settlement was prosperous, the walls stout, wide fields well worked and a good herd of cattle grazed all around, tended by numerous young boys.

  Neugen pointed at three wagons lumbering to the village from the east. Each was stacked high with the summer’s harvest. “That is a lot of produce. Think they are selling it to the Romans?”

  The sun was all but set for the day and the north wind was picking up. It would be a cold night.

  “Could be. Better than letting it rot.”

  When they had ridden out with Hanno’s agreement to scout the Roman activity in the north, they had planned on making for this settlement before nightfall. Now the two hundred sat their horses, out of sight behind a spur of tree covered hills, while Caros, Maleric and Neugen watched from among the trees.

  “They will close the gates after those wagons enter.” Maleric predicted.

  Caros nodded. “They will. We best get going.”

  They made their way downhill onto a rough track and turned to the village. They had left the column to bed down for the night as ordered.

  They reached the gates ahead of the wagons without any hurry. The warriors had been watching the approaching wagons, no doubt eager to close the gates and be done with the chore. The rattle of hooves startled more than one and they spun, leveling spears at the riders.

  “Greetings!” Caros called with a wide smile. “Glad to see we made it before the gates closed.”

  “Yeah, you can thank those cursed carts for that. Gates should be closed by now.” The warrior who spoke, was short and muscular. His black hair sprang thick from beneath his bronze helm and covered his arms and legs like a coat. His keen eyes beneath a single wide and bushy eyebrow traced their weapons and the cut and color of their clothes, trying to fix their origins. Failing, he lifted his spear, “Who are you lot? We are not in the habit of letting just anyone in, especially these days and at this time of night.”

  Caros pulled his ho
rse to a halt as did Maleric and Neugen. “I am Caros of the Bastetani and these are my close companions. We are moving on tomorrow, just wanted a night out of this cursed wind.” Caros pulled his cloak tighter about his neck. It was becoming colder, no denying that truth.

  The Ilerget guard looked them over warily before glancing over at the wagons. “Greetings then. Go on, you will find rest and hospitality within.” He batted a hand at the gates and stood aside.

  Riding into the settlement, the walls blocked much of the wind and Caros immediately felt warmer. Ahead of him, the narrow streets were lit by the glow of fires burning in hearths. Women and children toiled, packing wood, carrying water, pushing carts of amphorae and holding shouted conversations all the while.

  “Here is a place that could bore a man in no time.” Maleric commented.

  “I smell bread. Come.” Neugen led the way, head turning from side to side as though casting for the scent of prey.

  The Ilerget villagers were amiable, friendly even and their horses were soon put up as were they. Their host were a potter and his wife with a brood of children from squalling infant to surly youth. In the hours after sunset, over a meal of stewed mutton and fresh bread, Caros learned that legionaries had visited the settlement just two days earlier.

  “They wanted your warriors to fight at their side?”

  The potter laughed, “Not. They wanted our warriors to stand aside. Very sure of themselves these Romans and they are offering good trade.” He colored and pressed his lips together, perhaps wishing he had not spoken so honestly.

  The following day, they visited three more Ilerget villages. All spoke of the Romans and all maintained that Romans wanted the Ilerget as allies in peace and not as allies on the field.

  “I am not sure I understand these Romans.” Neugen stared over his shoulder at the third village as they rode away. “The Ilerget would make fine allies on the field and they know the land.”

  Caros thought back to Indibilis’ battle with the Romans and guessed their reason. “When Indibilis fought them, the Roman legionaries were more than a match for his warriors. Their only weakness was their auxiliaries.” He frowned deeply. “I think they fear that the presence of untried Iberian warriors in their ranks would create a weakness for Hasdrubal to exploit.”

  Maleric chuckled, “We should go to them and insist we fight at their side.”

  The fourth village was much the same as the previous three, except it lay within Lacetani lands. It had not been raised, nor had its inhabitants been put to the sword. It had the feel of any village in late autumn. Everywhere, people worked to mill grains, dry fruit and cure meat for the coming winter.

  As was their habit now, the column remained concealed in the countryside while Caros and his two companions rode to the village. It was late in the afternoon and the day had been sapping. The north wind had blown incessantly and frayed at Caros’ nerves and patience.

  The men guarding the gate were huddled before a fire, thick cloaks tied across their shoulder and spears racked along the foot of the wall. Their hands were stretched to the fire to gather some warmth for themselves from the guttering flames.

  They watched with gloomy eyes as the three riders approached the gates. Caros lifted a hand in greeting, not caring for their sullen expressions. One man gave a contemptuous nod before spitting into the fire.

  Within the walls, they dismounted and led their horses through streets made narrower by people wrapped against the cold and intent on their own errands.

  “Feels different here.” Neugen voiced.

  Maleric was quick to agree. “They look ready to embrace slavery just to escape having to make a decision.”

  Caros winced at the Gaul’s words, but found he could not disagree. “I hear horses. Must be stables.” Caros, tugged his mount’s reins and turned down an alley made muddy by water from a nearby well.

  They found a graybeard who took five worn shekels to have their mounts rubbed down and watered by a pair of scrawny lads.

  “Busy day?” Caros gestured to the dozen mounts already there.

  Graybeard spat a pip into the mud and pocketed the coins without reply.

  Handing his reins to one of the lads, Caros eyed the other horses, some of which still had blanket saddles tied to their backs.

  Retracing their way through the muddy alley, he loosened his cloak despite the cutting wind.

  “Eyes peeled, brothers. Some of those horses back there bore Ilerget colors.”

  “We are not so far from Ilerget lands. Doubtless they visit all the time.” Neugen reasoned.

  Caros drew his sword a finger’s breadth from its scabbard, testing that it came free easily.

  “True enough, but did you notice the three whites among them?”

  Maleric looked back the way they had come. “White, black or brown, does it make a difference?”

  “Yes, I saw them. They look like sturdy mounts and those were well cared for.” Neugen nodded at Caros. “You taught me a lot about horses.”

  Caros shrugged with a half-smile. “I expect they were ridden by Romans.”

  The mere mention of the possibility of Romans within the village had the three warriors’ eyes probing every alley mouth and shadowed entrance.

  “How would you know that?” Maleric asked while turning to look over his shoulder and up at the roof tops over their heads.

  “I saw many like that in the Volcae lands north of Massalia and again amongst the Roman auxiliaries.” Caros reasoned.

  “Makes sense. Still, there were only three of them so it follows there are just three Romans.” Maleric reasoned.

  “Either way, we are just three more local warriors, so I do not expect them to draw their blades the moment they see us.” Caros laughed tightly.

  Neugen wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “Beats sitting around listening to babes and women back at home.”

  “How many do you have?” Caros asked.

  Neugen grinned. “Just the one at the moment. A boy.” His pride was evident in the shine that lit in his eyes.

  “What do we do if we find them? Kill the bastards?” Maleric asked, ignoring Neugen’s comment.

  “Gods no. Kill guests in a village that may go over to the Romans? We would never get out alive.” Caros answered quickly.

  They entered a wider street and encountered a swollen mass of townspeople. A moment later a drumming instrument heralded the arrival of a teller of legends or musician. The crowd of two dozen were mostly local Lacetani men and women with no shortage of children pushing through the throng. Market vendors selling dried fruits and fresh vegetables vied for customers while a butcher had a brazier lit, and was grilling cuts of mutton as well as the whole smoked heads. Maleric caught the aroma of the sizzling fat and shouldered his way to the brazier.

  Both Caros and Neugen followed, they remained watchful and alert to the shifting of the crowd as it flowed around them.

  Maleric pointed at a cut of meat. “That piece and some of your bread to go with.”

  The butcher happily complied, and working quickly, slapped meat and bread both, into Maleric’s huge hands.

  “Two shekels, visitor.” The man demanded.

  Maleric, already working his teeth into the mutton, raised an eyebrow at Caros.

  Mouth watering at the flavorsome aromas, Caros signaled for two more cuts of meat and bread. He dipped into his purse and pulled out a handful of shekels. Counting out the six coins, he passed them to the butcher who was already shouting to another potential diner.

  Each armed with a joint of mutton and bread, they turned to observe a musician beating a drum and chanting an age old dirge.

  Caros tore off a mouthful of steaming mutton, reveling in the taste when his eyes were drawn beyond the crowd. A warrior was peering his way. He chewed thoughtfully, trying to recall who the man was and failing. The scarred face was troublingly familiar. He chewed, spat out a shard of bone and another. The warrior moved, looked away and then back.

 
; Caros bit into the stringy mutton without tasting it, his eyes narrowed and focusing. The scar, seen clearly from even this distance, was a vivid white feature in the gaunt face. Two women carrying pots and firewood on their heads, walked by, blocking Caros’ view and when they had passed, the man was out of sight, lost in a surge of villagers coming to enjoy some respite after a day’s work.

  “A couple of jugs of ale to wash this down would do nicely.” Maleric pointed to amphora being unloaded from a handcart. Wooden jugs hooked along the railing of the cart indicated it was a vendor and already the local men were turning that way. Maleric’s feet were as quick as his eyes, and in a heartbeat he was beside the vendor demanding three jugs.

  Again Caros paid, mutton gripped between his teeth as he fumbled with greasy hands for the coinage.

  Somebody shoved him from behind and coins slipped from his fingers. Cursing, he cast a scowl over his shoulder in time to take a blow from the butt end of a spear shaft. It took him in the forehead, clanging off the helm he wore, rattling his teeth and snapping his neck back.

  Spitting mutton from his mouth, dropping coins and shouting a warning all at once, he ducked the next blow and dragged at his falcata.

  With a furious roar, Maleric hurled his jug of ale at the attacking warrior who smirked and struck it aside. In a heartbeat, the locals were dispersing and the three companions were encircled by eight warriors including the scar-faced man Caros had spotted earlier.

  Caros winced as a spear punched into the greave over his lower leg and slid away. Neugen had stamped his foot on the spear shaft and was lashing out with his small knife.

  Maleric was struggling to draw his sword from over his shoulder in the press of suddenly alarmed villagers. A warrior slashed at him and Maleric abandoned trying to draw his blade and instead, shoved an amphora at the man who cursed and fell back.

  Caros had his blade free and even as he lashed out at the spearman, another warrior lunged at him. Twisting out of the path of the blade, he struck back, missing the scar-faced man’s throat by a hair’s breadth.