Gladius Winter

by J Glenn Bauer

  Caros released Beaugissa who shook herself and clenched and unclenched her fists.

  She looked with disgust at Ensillia. “Will you kill her?”

  He had expected to find it an easy thing to do, but looking at the shuddering woman, he could not dredge up the anger or hate he would need to end her.

  Beaugissa’s eyes were like hot coals. “She will scuttle back to the protection of Indibilis, undoubtedly with some tale that paints us as the villains. She is nothing but a poison toad, Caros.”

  Caros grimaced and drew his blade.

  “No!” Her eyes bulged with terror from her white face. “I swear, let me live and I will never cast my shadow here again.” Ensillia cried, her hands scrabbling in the dirt to clutch at Caros’ sandal.

  Beaugissa cursed in disgust and turned away. Riders sat or stood in a wide circle about them, watching with blank faces.

  Caros stepped back, pulling his sandal from Ensillia’s grasp. “Where would you go? To the Romans no doubt.” He barked at her.

  “Never! On my daughter’s life.” She had seen Rappo gazing defiantly at her from atop his pony and thrust her arm at him. “You! You can have the hand of my daughter! She brings a rich prize and will bear you sons aplenty!”

  Rappo leaned from his horse and allowed a glob of spit to fall slowly to the gouged soil.

  Beaugissa must have thought Caros was considering freeing the Ilerget woman. “Lest you forget, Caros, her warriors took Simnon. You saw what became of him.” The Vascon warrioress’ eyes glinted with righteous fury. “She must pay! Blood for blood, Caros!”

  Caros flexed his right arm, sweeping the blade of his falcata behind him. With a barely noticeable shift in balance, he swung the blade sideways.

  Ensillia lifted her wretched traitorous blank eyes to his face and went still. From her chest protruded a spearhead, dripping crimson gore. A half heartbeat later Caros’ blade tore through her neck, dislodging her head to fall with a heavy sound between her ankles.

  Caros skirted the spraying blood and watched as Beaugissa twisted the shaft of the heavy spear. With a grunt, she dragged the spear blade free of the headless corpse.

  “That, you earned, you evil bitch!” She kicked the kneeling corpse between the shoulder blades and toppled it to the ground

  Caros ripped a fold of cloth from the cloak of the nearest fallen bodyguard and wiped his blade clean.

  Panting, her face blotched with shock and anger, Beaugissa turned to him. “Now show us how to kill the Romans like this, Caros the Claw!”

  Chapter 19

  The dun-colored rock walls of Cissa, lay ahead, all angles and columns against the blue of the sea beyond. The Cessetani, like so many of the people in this part of the land newly conquered by Hannibal in the spring of that year, were traders, merchants and farmers. This was the largest town of the Cessetani and seat of their richest families.

  Maleric inspected the tip of a sharpened twig he’d been using to pick between his teeth. Flicking it away, he pointed at the town walls.

  “The walls look promising. Might keep the Romans at bay until the Carthaginians get here.”

  Beaugissa looked hopeful, Neugen not as much.

  It was true that the walls looked formidable from where they approached along the road from the interior. Caros had passed this way when his father still lived, traveling from the silver mines to Tarraco on the coast. He remembered the walls of Cissa as treacherous underfoot, loose stones falling often and parts entirely collapsed. It was doubtful they were in better repair.

  “We will divert the men past the west wall and on to the north.” Caros instructed Neugen and his captains.

  Neugen pulled a face. “This might be the last chance a lot of our fellows will have to get kit mended and… well to relax.” The other captains nodded, their eyes hopeful.

  In four days they had travelled a long distance through the Ilerget lands in a loop that dipped south before turning north towards Cissa. He looked that way now. The Romans were out there and any day now his far riding scouts would sight them.

  “They should camp north of Cissa. Put the town walls at their back. Might as well issue them their payment now as well.” Now the smiles of Neugen and the captains lit up. Caros raised his voice. “We spend a single day here and leave tomorrow at this same time. I expect every warrior to be ready to march.”

  Neugen nodded. “Sounds fine. Enough time to sort their kit out and have some time to mingle.”

  Caros did not mind what the Bastetani warriors did as long as they were ready to march and fight the next afternoon. For now, he wanted to meet the man in charge of the Carthaginian forces here. This Jabari the Gyptos.

  “Which of you speak any Greek? You Agelet?”

  That warrior laughed. “Not I, Caros.” He nudged the man beside him. “Cam here does. Learned it the same place he learned to like cocks.”

  Caros raised his eyebrows at the captain named Cam who glowered at Agelet. “I speak Greek because it is my mother’s tongue you sheep-shagging turd.”

  “Good, take Agelet and ride to the town gate. Let them know my name and who we are. Tell them that Hanno will be here in the next days, but I expect to meet Jabari, the commander.” He fished the message pouch out from beneath his armor and tunic, untied it from the cord and passed it to Cam. “Give that to him. It is from M’hatmu.”

  Agelet and Cam, the Greek speaking Iberian, both nodded happily. Caros flicked them a silver shekel each. “That comes out of your pay.”

  The warriors garrisoning Cissa were a scattering of mercenaries from a half dozen different African peoples. As Caros guided his horse between the lines of the tent settlement that the warriors had erected along the road to the western gate, he spied Egyptians, Greeks and Libyans.

  Neugen had seen similar warriors at Sagunt the previous summer. Maleric had seen them while with Hannibal’s army on the Rhône. Rappo had grown up in Africa and seen his share of exotic people, being one himself. Beaugissa however, had rarely seen anything like the tall, well-built dark skinned men that made up large numbers of the warriors.

  He caught her eyes widening when she inadvertently saw one man uncover himself to urinate. He laughed out loud causing her to blush deeply before cracking his helm with her spear

  Ears ringing, he called to Rappo. “I forget the name of the people with the skin the color of blackberries. You know them?”

  Rappo caught sight of the huge warrior who sensed he was the subject of conversation and turned to piss in their direction with a wide smile.

  “Him? He is of the Noba.” His face darkened. “Better to have them fight on your side.”

  Caros looked at Beaugissa. “These are the warriors that fight for the Barcas. The Romans will learn some hard truths in the next few days.”

  “Maybe.” She retorted quickly, “But you have yet to tell us how to defeat them.”

  Caros let her have that. He had some thoughts on how Hanno and Hasdrubal should direct their forces, but the stinging truth was that aside from the disciplined Libyan professionals, the rest, regardless of how fearsome, were brawlers and hackers.

  Jabari was everything Caros had expected of a man put in charge of two thousand mixed warriors. He met him under a tattered awning held up on one side by two poles of age-whitened wood. The other end was pegged to a cross beam above an open fronted stone taverna.

  Caros took a seat on a lumpy sack containing root vegetables or cuts of wood. He wasn’t sure which and hoped that nothing leaked through the rough sacking.

  Jabari sat on a three legged stool, his upper body leaned casually against a giant amphora, pitted with age. His long legs were stretched out before him, copper-colored skin covered in a matt of dark hair. The man’s face was stretched and narrowed above his eyes so that the bronze helm looked like a small lid on a cooking pot.

  “You tell me the Barca’s men come north soon?”

  Caros noted that the man’s accent was very similar to the accent of the slavers that
sailed from the vast and notorious delta at the mouth of the Nile.

  “Just Hanno. Hasdrubal is still days away.” Caros eyed the proprietor of the establishment who seemed to want to stay as far from Jabari as possible. “A pot of your fresh ale and six cups.” Caros slapped three coppers on the table made from a split wagon wheel.

  “Then why is Hanno coming here?” Jabari’s eyes flashed darkly. “He thinks I steal? He sent you to spy on me?” The man’s voice was suddenly all gravel and thorn.

  Caros gestured impatiently at the proprietor while wondering just how much Jabari was filching.

  “You saw that the Bastetani marched past and to the north. We leave this time tomorrow to find the Romans.”

  Jabari’s hand was curled around the hilt of his sword and his thick lips wet with anticipated violence.

  “I think you lie to Jabari.” He teased the blade slowly free of an ornate scabbard. “You think I am some pirate scum you can fool? A thousand warriors you have and you expect me to believe you go to face the Romans?”

  Caros took the outthrust pot of ale lest the proprietor drop it in his haste to flee Jabari’s presence. Six cups followed, clanking onto the table.

  Caros glanced at Jabari and then pointedly at the shining blade emerging from the scabbard. “Nice scabbard. After I have killed you, I will give it to the woman over there.” He gestured with his chin to Beaugissa.

  The Gyptos’ eyes bulged and veins snaked wildly beneath the skin of his temple.

  Caros smiled at him and raised the pot of ale. “Drink?”

  The man’s face contorted for a heartbeat and then he laughed. The sound was remarkably like the braying of a horny mule. “Drink! Yes, Bastetani! Pour for Jabari.” He twisted on his perch to leer at Beaugissa who studied him with cold indifference. Caros could feel the ice in her stare from where he sat. He doubted she would accept the scabbard unless it was gifted while protruding through the Gyptos’ odd skull.

  Rappo took cups of the ale to the others where they sat against a wall, enjoying the last rays of the sun. After smacking his lips and then bitching about the quality of the ale, Jabari sat forward. “You leave tomorrow?”

  “That is what I said. How about the Romans? What are your scouts saying?”

  Jabari’s eyes narrowed. “They are coming, but they are in no great rush. If you go north, especially with such pitiful numbers, they may come faster.” He shook his head. “You should stay here. Do not try to feed the crocodile with your lips.”

  Caros squinted. Crocodile? “I am expected to. I do not think it is the wisest thing Hanno has ever done, but he has a good reason.”

  “Probably wants you dead.” Jabari’s lips twisted with what Caros assumed was a smile. “Cannot fault his judgement there, Bastetani.”

  “So, how far north are the Roman forces?”

  “A day’s march from here.”

  “Runeovex!” Caros’ heart jolted. “A day?”

  Jabari twirled the empty cup and held it out for a refill. Caros shoved the pot across the rough wood, sloshing bitter smelling ale across the surface.

  “Why does Hanno not know this?” He paused, “You do not want him here. The Barca.”

  Jabari glowered at him and slammed the cup down in a pool of ale. “Those are their foremost warriors. They number even less than your Bastetani. The rest are days away still.”

  Caros wiped his brow, his heartbeat slowing. That made sense, but then again, the information was coming from a man that Caros thought was as twisted as the horns of a mouflon.

  Cissa receded into the dust and distance as Caros and the Bastetani captains led their warriors north the next afternoon. Many of them were pale and dark eyed. Their fires had burned most of the night as the peddlers from the walled town serviced them with drink and flesh.

  Maleric reeked of the ale that soured his tunic and oozed from his flesh. “Good idea.” He whispered through his thick beard.

  “What is?” Beaugissa asked.

  Caros grinned at her back and caught Neugen’s expression.

  The big Gaul leaned out from his mount’s swaying back and Beaugissa stepped hers closer to catch the man’s words. Instead, he spewed a vivid yellow torrent onto the rocky ground, narrowly missing her leg.

  “Pig!” She kicked her heels into her mount’s ribs and pulled away, her nose wrinkled in disgust. Caros felt something warm him at the sight of her face like that.

  “Somewhere ahead of us are Romans.” She spat. “Caros, master of untold secrets will, I expect, simply defeat them by unleashing you on them. If they have any sense, they will stream home just to wash away your stink.”

  Maleric, red eyed and pale faced, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and examined the froth left there before smearing it on his braccae.

  “Way I see it, the Romans were in that piss-poor excuse of a town before us and they poisoned the ale. I have not spewed like that since my nuts were just the size of a boar’s.” His grin was all show.

  Neugen, looking barely healthier, sniggered. “Okay, I will be the man that asks. How big are they now?”

  Maleric gave the Bastetani a brighter smile. “You know, you are not too bad for a Bastetani. Thank the gods you are not all like poor stiff Caros. Of course, if I had grown a tree for a woman in my smallclothes, but was too afraid to use it on her, I might be a little stiff myself.”

  Caros flushed and clenched his fist. Catching Beaugissa’s eye, he flushed still deeper and looked away. The Gaul meant it as a joke, yet how true the spear flew!

  “Neugen, have the men form a camp on the south side of that hill.” Caros interjected.

  “So soon? The peddlers will be back tonight with their Roman soured ale.” He argued.

  Caros thought one or two might venture the distance. They would be able to see the firelight with ease from the walls of Cissa, not that the walls were sturdy enough to walk upon.

  “I need daylight to train our warriors on how to fight the Romans.” As he expected, his companions’ heads swiveled as one towards him, eyes round.

  Neugen nodded and raised dust as he rode away, issuing orders.

  Beaugissa watched Caros, a thoughtful look in her eyes. He felt that warmth again and hoped it would last.

  Arrayed before Caros, were the senior warriors of the Bastetani thousand. Most were graybeards, still well-muscled and agile, warriors that had lived through petty inner-tribal bloodletting and larger battles against other tribes. Some like Neugen and Agelet had also fought at Sagunt. There were younger men present as well. Those who were exceptional warriors and gifted leaders of men. In all, they numbered thirty and each of them watched Caros intently as he clambered onto a great boulder to address them.

  “We are not a numerous people like the Oretani. Nor do we possess wealth like the Turdetani. Yet, we have held our lands through all the long generations. Time and again we have been forced to drive out invaders with their larger numbers, better armor and newer blades. Just as our ancestors did. And our fathers. Now there is a new danger that we must face.”

  The warriors shifted uncomfortably, many muttering of Rome or legionaries.

  Caros let them, his gaze taking in each man where he stood, leaned or sat. “Romans bleed and die like any other. They are not the danger.” This caught them by surprise and eyebrows were cocked skeptically.

  Caros shook his head. “I have killed Romans. My companions have killed Romans. They bleed, curse, and shit themselves like any gut-stabbed warrior would. No Bastetani, the real danger is the way they fight.”

  Caros nodded to Neugen who turned to the warriors and singled out a burly man with narrow hips and bright, intelligent eyes.

  “Ho, Dubgetious!” He tossed a stout pole to the man who caught it easily and smiled widely, anticipating a show. “If Caros were a Roman and that stick a sword, show us how you would end him.”

  Dubgetious looked up at Caros, his head the level of Caros’ feet. Perplexed, he frowned and slashed the air in front of him, as
though cleaving a man’s skull.

  “Why, I would carve his brain from his skull.” He smiled and twirled the stave with nimble fingers, then slashed horizontally. “Or empty his shit sack on his feet.” He whipped the stave about, slashing and hacking the air in front of him, while his fellows laughed and stamped their feet, adding their own moves.

  Maleric stepped up beside Neugen, his face twisted with battle lust. Both men carried shields and bore staves of their own. The grinning Dubgetious became aware of the lack of response from Caros or Neugen and faltered and slowed his swinging. Confused, he stopped altogether.

  Caros let silence gain ground before he spoke. “I am untouched as yet, Dubgetious. Now, use your stave on me. Imagine I am some great Roman chief and before you are my legionaries. They will not strike you, instead when you strike them they will fall away.” Caros watched the man’s eyes clear. “Yes. Now, let us make this real.” He flicked a silver shekel into the air, letting it spin high and fall into Dubgetious’ snatching fist below him. “You keep that if you lay a blow on me.”

  The warriors behind Dubgetious, scrambled forward in a half circle with a renewed sense of drama.

  Dubgetious pointed his stave at Maleric and Neugen, “I apologize for the pain you are about to endure.” His lips curled as he rolled his shoulder and swung the stave menacingly.

  He was fast. From a standing start, his body whipped upwards as he swung his stave at Maleric’s helm. The blow found Maleric’s shield, but Dubgetious was expecting that and was already spinning and swiping at Neugen. Again the stave found a shield face. Dubgetious swung again, viciously fast and then faster until his blows rained on the two men’s shields like drum beats. At last, Neugen mistimed his defense, and the stave cracked across his ribs. He bore armor, so there was no damage, but he fell away as promised.

  Dubgetious howled and made to go for Caros who had remained standing on the boulder. Instead, another shield took Neugen’s space. Beaugissa, black hair twisted in braids, flowed from beneath her bronze helm and her eyes shone with battle fury from over the rim of her shield.