Gladius Winter

by J Glenn Bauer

  “Over the hill.” Caros saw his mistake now. He should have moved their camp still further south to make truth of the message he had sent Hanno. M’hatmu would see clearly that it was the Romans who had retreated and not they.

  “You have eyes on the Romans? How far is their army?”

  “It seems their greatest force is north of Tarraco. The scouts are hunted by their auxiliary horsemen so dare not get closer than distant hills.”

  “This is why Hanno has sent me forward. He wishes to locate their army.”

  “He still plans to attack before Hasdrubal arrives?”

  M’hatmu nodded, “Your message was received, but so were those of Ilerget riders who watched the battle from the west.”

  Caros’ heart sank. “Where is Hanno now?”

  “He arrived in Cissa today. He marches on the Romans from there and expects you and your Bastetani to join him.” M’hatmu looked again at the unlit pyres and then nodded at Caros. “Your presence in his army will be missed if you decide to ride away.”

  “We have come too far now to turn away. We will be there to do what we can.”

  The Masulian appraised the young Bastetani frankly and with great respect. “Farewell until we meet for battle, Caros.”

  Those that came next, Caros ignored. They were Ilerget horsemen. Well armored, with cuirasses made from shining plates of bronze riveted to boiled leather. Their polished helms bore various decorations, some with plumes of horsehair, other stylized beasts rampant on their crowns.

  Maleric laughed and spat. “Why spend coin on making your war helm look pretty?” He rapped his knuckles against his own dented and grubby iron helm. “This does the job well enough, but if I were to decorate it, it would be with the head of a fearful beast or the horns of a dragon.”

  “You do not need a bloody helm.” Neugen observed. “What Roman would stretch so high for such a small target?”

  They fell silent to watch as the Ilerget rode past the Bastetani gathering around the pyres. Their laughter and mood of excitement at odds with the solemnity of those about to send their kin and fellow warriors to the hearth of Saur, god of the dead.

  Once their hundreds had ridden by, a priestess began reciting the ancient words to send the shades of the dead on their way. As the woman swayed and shuffled, the Bastetani went forward to leave gifts for their dead on the pyres.

  The pyres, doused in oil, were lit to the accompaniment of the setting sun, thus allowing the shades of the dead to travel with the orb to the land of death where they would join all those who had travelled that path before them.

  In the morning, the Bastetani rose with the sun, rolled and packed their possessions into sacks of woven hemp, wicker baskets and leather satchels. Meat from the great slaughter of rams and bulls the night before was salted and packed onto the wagons which were hitched with teams of mules.

  There was a stark sense of impending fate and the warriors snapped with angry vigor. The same nervous energy filled Caros as he rubbed his mount down and tied his blanket saddle to its back. Taking a last look at the four great piles of ash that marked the previous night’s pyres, he signaled to the graybeards to move their people south again. To Cissa and Hanno. To battle with the Roman giant.

  The wind rose as they reached the plains around Cissa. It carried their dust and clamor across the columns of warriors already stamping away from the night camp outside the town.

  The vast majority of Hanno’s warriors were already well north of the town on the trail leading to a point north of Tarraco. To where twenty thousand Romans sharpened their swords.

  “Looks like the dregs of his warriors bringing up the rear.” Neugen eyed the poorly armed warriors tramping north. Men and women dressed in nothing more than threadbare linens and untreated pelts wrapped about their bodies and tied to their shins. Their weapons amounted to hunting bows and slings. Some had the hilts of worn bronze daggers protruding from cured leather hides tied to their plaited belts.

  Beaugissa laughed bitterly. “Is this where Hanno thinks we should be then?” She looked to Caros who shrugged back at her. “He sent us out to die and we defied him, so now he has left us at the rear like the dregs of a cup of soured ale and you are not angered?”

  Neugen’s face colored and the corners of Maleric’s eyes tightened, but Caros calmly finished scraping congealed ash and blood from beneath his nails before smiling at the fuming Vascon warrioress.

  “Truth? I shudder at the prospect of the battle a little less knowing now that Hanno and Indibilis have no regard for us.” He gestured to the Bastetani gathering behind them. “We know how to fight and we will choose our own place in the coming battle, not be told on which flank to stand, surrounded by those that know nothing of killing Romans.”

  His companions were silent for heartbeats and then Maleric grunted. “Put like that, it actually sounds a good thing. I would not trust Hanno to lead a charge on a tent of paid women.”

  Rappo looked on with interest, “What are paid women? Are they dangerous, like Beaugissa then?”

  The men collapsed while Beaugissa swore and charged Rappo, who took off, wide-eyed.

  “Ahyee! I meant no insult! Ouch!”

  They joined the columns of warriors trudging north, inserting themselves into the rear echelons. Behind them came the very poorest warriors as well as many unarmed women and children, burdened with baggage or pushing and pulling rickety handcarts with their meagre provisions.

  They exchanged greetings and small news with groups of warrior kin from many peoples. Treating with them as equals and observing all the courtesies of custom gained Caros respect and unaligned warriors began to join his Bastetani, bringing welcome numbers to their ranks. In this way he also encountered a group of warriors that would help he and his warriors greatly in the coming battle.

  Caros and Maleric watched from a low ridge as the column passed below them. Their Bastetani a solid mass amongst the loose knots of other warriors. Caros turned to his left and noticed a band of men trotting from a valley mouth. Still some distance away, it was difficult to tell who the newcomers were. They approached from the west rather than the south as most of the scattered warrior bands had, and as more appeared Caros became curious.

  “See that lot?” He asked the Gaul.

  “They look to be in a rush somewhere. Not much of a threat though. I do not see a blade among them.”

  Caros was struck by an urge to meet these people and so, with a click of his tongue, urged his mount down off the ridge to cross the trail and pull up before their leading warriors.

  “Greetings! You have come to take Barca silver?”

  The foremost warrior stepped forward, his body glistened with sweat and perspiration beaded his forehead beneath the braided flax headband he wore. His armor amounted to a single brass disc belted over his chest.

  “Greetings. We are not too late? Is there yet a need for more warriors?”

  Caros grinned wryly at Maleric and dipped his chin to the tall man. “Warriors are needed. You have little in the way of weapons,” He looked up the valley through which a file of hundreds of warriors trotted. They had energy. “Unless your blades and shields are on wagons back there?”

  The warrior shrugged and patted the short knife in the rawhide sheath at his belt. “This is blade enough. We have other weapons to fight with. Is there a place for my fellows and I?”

  They spoke until all the warriors had disgorged from the valley and formed a great band of close to four hundred men and women, some so young and slight, Caros wondered if they had seen their first tenth year.

  Finally, in agreement Caros and the warrior spat into their palms and clasped their hands close.

  “Looks like they have settled for the night.” Caros pointed at smudges in the sky made by distant cooking fires.

  “Shall I call in the scouts?” Neugen asked.

  They had kept riders afield to keep them alerted to any hint of danger. Caros was well aware that the poorly defended rear of Ha
nno’s army made a prime target. At any moment, Roman auxiliaries could sweep out of an adjoining valley or from down a tree covered slope. They would be able to ride amok against the pitiful weapons on display.

  “No, leave them out. There will be time enough at sunset to bring them in.”

  It was a good decision, for the sun was a thumb width from the western hills when a pair of their scouts galloped back with news of battle.

  The men did not have much by way of details and after dragging their horses to a halt in a cloud of dust in front of Caros and his companions, they took just moments to describe what they had seen.

  “We were on the north flank of the vanguard. Keeping pace with the bastard Ilerget.”

  Caros nodded impatiently. “What happened?”

  “Well the Romans, lots of the buggers, were holding a pair of hills on either side of the road. The Ilerget picked the southern hill which was much smaller and attacked.” The scout spat and drank from his waterskin while the second continued the report.

  “The Romans numbered only a few hundred on that hill, but I think they were surprised to be attacked. They got off a good few spears and skewered a fair number of the Ilerget, but they did not remain. As soon as the Ilerget turned away, they scuttled over the road and joined their mates on the northern hill.”

  “They are still there? What of Hanno and the Libyans?”

  The rider shook his head. “The moment the Libyans approached the hill, the Romans marched off down the back of it.”

  “Go round up the other riders and bring them in. We will spend the night here. Be up at first light and get back north. Try to see where the Romans main force is.”

  The scouts departed to find their fellow riders and Caros turned his mount off the trail, leading the Bastetani into a sheltered fold in the land.

  “What do you make of that then?” Maleric asked.

  “The Romans were testing Hanno’s resolve, perhaps?” Caros mused. He dreaded to think of how the Roman retreat would bolster Hanno and Indibilis’ belief in their ability to defeat the Romans.

  The following day would show itself soon enough and Caros was determined to make the best of this poor situation.

  With the Bastetani settled for the night, he sent for the leading warriors. Of the thirty that had gathered two days earlier, now just twelve settled in a circle around a large fire. One of these was the champion, Dubgetious, limping a little and wearing a mottled bruise over the left half of his face. The spark of fight was still very much alight in his eyes, Caros noticed.

  There was meat and even some ale miraculously left over from the previous night and Caros had this distributed among the senior warriors.

  “The course is set now friends and the spears are aloft. We would be fools to think they will fall away without taking a few of us. Tomorrow.” Caros stood, firelight playing across his broad chest and dancing over his beard and forehead. The warriors, gnawing the tough meat, nodded and grunted assent, their eyes filled with resolve.

  “We heard the Romans turned tail before the Ilerget today, Caros.” Dubgetious called. “They probably thought it was us Bastetani they faced, eh?”

  Other warriors grinned and cheered, slapping greasy palms on their cuirasses. Caros met Dubgetious’ eyes across the fire.

  “Well said Dubgetious! Well said!” Caros laughed. “We know now how hard the Romans die. The Ilerget lost warriors today for no good reason. Tomorrow, Hanno and Indibilis will take us all into the jaws of this Roman wolf.” He gripped his war spear and raised it. “We will fight as only the Bastetani can fight! Rome will know the sons of Iberia are made of better metal than they ever thought!”

  The leading warriors crowed and brandished their weapons, as did many of those that listened on from beyond the firelight.

  Beaugissa stood tall nearby, her eyes liquid. She smiled at Caros, teeth flashing as she raised her own spear and let forth a wild ululation.

  Caros lowered his spear. “Today we rode among many warriors that are held in little regard by Hanno. The poor and wretched, come only to gain some small spoils of war.”

  Grunts of disapproval began, but Caros quieted them with a wave of his spear. “They may not be Bastetani, but they too are the sons of Iberia. Let them be our allies tomorrow for we are few.” He paused and signaled into the dark behind him, from which stepped a warrior clad in a simple tunic and poor herdsman’s sandals. This was the leading man, Caros had met that same day. In his hand swung a war sling. From his rope belt dangled a sizeable pouch.

  “This is one of those warriors.” Caros stepped aside and dragged the man into the firelight for all to see clearly. The Bastetani watched in silence, unsure of Caros’ intentions or meaning.

  “Share your name with us.” Caros asked the man who gave him a frank look before gazing around at the silent faces turned on him. Squaring his shoulders, the warrior raised his chin.

  “Greetings, Bastetani, I am Hercle of the Sedetani.” His lip curled slightly and Caros saw the twitching of his cheek as he gave his name and people.

  The Sedetani had for generations been a broken tribe, clinging to just a few settlements squeezed between the warlike Ilerget to the north and the hostile Celtiberi to the west.

  Caros nodded. “Well met, Hercle.” He turned to the ring of frowning faces. “Hercle has agreed to join his four hundred warriors with ours.”

  There was a roar of protest from the graybeards and curses from the warriors watching from the dark.

  Hercle cocked his head and smiled, in his hand the war sling quivered and begun to rotate.

  Caros smiled and stepped towards Maleric who had the look of a lynx invited into a sheep fold.

  The Gaul nodded to Caros who turned back to Hercle. “Now.”

  The Sedetani warrior lifted his left arm and pointed into the dark. The graybeards, distracted, turned to look and saw rising up into the night, a flaming apparition.

  Warriors fell over themselves, dropping their cups and grasping for sheathed blades. Caros caught Dubgetious’ eye. The Bastetani champion had risen, but showed no fear, instead he lifted his eyebrows quizzically.

  In the next heartbeat, a hum reverberated from the abruptly spinning war sling in the hands of Hercle, catching the attention of many of the warriors.

  With a grunt, Hercle stepped and loosed the slingshot. There was the instant buzz of an angry hornet and then the fire creature in the sky above them exploded into so many pieces of flaming wing and claw.

  Screams and curses rang so loud from all around that Caros thought the Romans might hear. A warrior prodded his spear at a piece of flaming debris that floated towards him. Others dodged weightier fragments, all still burning weakly as they fell to the earth.

  Dubgetious stamped on a large piece, killed the flame and lifted the object, sniffing it cautiously. The lines on his brow rose and his eyes grew wide. He turned to the nearest warriors, who stood quailing, faces pale and fists clenched over amulets. With a sudden flourish he howled and threw the scorched object at them. Pandemonium broke out as warriors shrieked and fell over one another in their attempts to flee. Dubgetious, threw his head back and roared with laughter until tears streamed from his eyes.

  Caros grinned at Hercle who draped the sling over his shoulder. “That was nothing. I could take an eye from a raven as it flew. So could any of my folk.”

  “I believe you. If these warriors have any sense, they will agree. You have the meat and provisions I sent?”

  “Very generous and my people know your name well now Caros the Claw. If your people agree, we will fight tomorrow in the way you described.” He turned and disappeared into the dark, leaving behind a growing clamor of surprise and confusion.

  Maleric smirked at Caros. “You are a crafty bastard and that fellow’s accuracy is fearful.”

  “You did well to capture a crow so quickly.”

  “They are drawn to killers like myself.” He winked. “They know there is certain to be a feast of offal in my wake.”r />
  Beaugissa rolled her eyes and silently pantomimed throwing up.

  By now the warriors had established that the creature that had appeared from the night’s black maw, like some denizen of Saur’s domain, was a crow that had been doused with oil, set alight and let fly. Warriors were jeering those that had scattered and others were angrily denying screaming like girls. Dubgetious was still chuckling and he nodded appreciatively at Caros who was certain fighting was about to break out, especially when a bald-headed graybeard accused a younger warrior of pissing his small clothes.

  “That is just ale, old man! Spilled from your cup when you tossed it in fear.”

  “Hold!” Caros strode forward, spear braced casually over his shoulder and a smile playing around his mouth. He thumped the spear end into the hard ground to gather their eyes to him.

  “Hear now! I showed you on the eve of battle the one way of matching the Romans. Shield to shield.”

  “You did! At the expense of my dignity!” Dubgetious called without any rancor and others cheered.

  “And I saw you in the thick of battle Dubgetious. Spitting your enemy by the handful instead of hacking splinters from shields. Now, on the eve of tomorrow’s battle I show you the worth of four hundred warriors that Hanno considers too lowly to command.” He stared the men down, looking for shaking heads and drawn brows. Embracing the Sedetani as battle brothers meant a smaller share of plunder in the event of victory. These warriors had come north for the lure of plunder and battle fame. They had already seen the potential wealth carried by the Roman legionaries. They had to see further though.

  Neugen threw his cup into the fire. “I see a kindred spirit in Hercle of the Sedetani. Are we too, not a small people, pressed on all sides by enemies? Forged as such, look at how we make even the Turdetani shy from battle. I say we treat with the Sedetani.”

  Caros dipped his chin in thanks just as Beaugissa strode forward.

  She folded her arms across her chest, her spear enfolded in the crook of her elbow and planted her feet square. Her jaw was set and eyes fierce. “I am Beaugissa of the Vascon! I am here not for silver, but to see the Romans defeated. That is why I ride with Caros and the Bastetani.” She kicked a fragment of the scorched crow into the fire where it flared anew, sending sparks and embers soaring. “If Caros sees in the Sedetani a means to defeating the legionaries than I say,” she unfolded her arms and thrust her spear after the fleeing sparks, “We treat with the Sedetani!”