Gladius Winter

by J Glenn Bauer

  “Caros!” A mount slew to a halt at his side and a hand slammed his helm. “Caros! The Ilerget have broken and stream east.”

  His face still set in a snarl, Caros spun on Neugen only to see the man start back in shock.

  “Is that your blood? Are you wounded?”

  “The Libyans?” Caros ignored the questions.

  Neugen shook his head quickly. “They are dead men. The Romans have them encircled.”

  Caros spun again, disoriented, trying to find the Sedetani. Dubgetious. He stood swaying in relief when he saw the hillside was still theirs.

  “Looks like you pissed those fellows off. Did you just throw a head at them?”

  Caros muttered an invocation under his breath and looked back at the Romans. They were moving now, advancing on the frenetic hacking and spearing of their fellow legionaries.

  “Time to go I think.”

  “Sweet Runeovex! I have rarely heard a better suggestion.” Neugen barked a laugh. “Here. Take a grip.”

  With his falcata thrust back into its scabbard and his grip firm on the leather cinch of Neugen’s blanket saddle, they raced back through the Bastetani warriors.

  Romans still stood in isolated groups. Their shields splintered, swords blunted and twisted. Some sobbed even as they fought and killed. Others cursed and called on their war god, Mars. When they saw legionaries advancing in swift, ground shaking strides, they bared their teeth and cursed the Bastetani.

  Caros kept a close eye on the advancing legionaries while he called for his own warriors to break off and reform on the hill. Many had already sensed the approaching Romans and were backing away. Their blood lust slacked and their limbs now trembling too violently to properly wield their spears or plundered swords.

  Caros let go of the saddle. “Warn the Turdetani. Naoes Long Knife if he still lives.” Neugen scattered men as he swerved his mount back towards the Turdetani.

  Already the Romans that had been encircled moments earlier were running west, toward their advancing lines. Caros bellowed at the last groups of kin battling for pride or lost in battle fervor.

  A Roman amongst the few groups still swamped by Bastetani bellowed to his advancing companions, “Vittelius! Vittelius, we are pressed. Come on here or we will be slain by these murderous beasts!”

  Caros centered on that group of some twenty legionaries, surrounded and exchanging blows with three times as many Turdetani and Bastetani.

  He bellowed to his warriors. “Bastetani away now to the hill! The time for blades is past today! Run now or be beset.”

  Warriors slowly drew back, shook their heads clear and took stock of the approaching Romans, now almost within javelin range. Breaking away, they began staggering, limping and running for the hillside to which the Bastetani were streaming.

  The same Roman called again, his voice strong enough to carry well over the sounds of battle and tramping feet.

  “Vittelius! They are fleeing, come on and take the whoresons!”

  Caros watched in relief as the remnants of the Iberian warriors backed off the Roman shields. The Romans remained crouched behind their shields, bruised and weary beyond measure no doubt.

  “To the hill!” he directed the remaining warriors while watching for Neugen among the further Turdetani. A motion in the foreground caught his eye. A single Roman broke from the huddled survivors, a gladius clenched in his fist. Throwing aside his shield, the legionary sprinted from his fellows. Caros’ eyes widened as he realized the man’s intention and he yelled a warning, knowing it was already too late. Two young Bastetani warriors, backs now to the Romans and helping one another to limp over the corpse strewn battlefield turned when they heard rushing footfalls behind them. Their eyes widened and jaws fell open.

  The Roman plunged his gladius into the bowels of first one and then the other. They staggered and fell back, agonized screams tearing at Caros’ heart.

  Caros cursed and drew his blade. Before he took a step, a spear sprang from the Roman’s chest and then Rappo was ululating and hurling spear after spear into the others where they waited behind their shields. A rumble of hooves sounded and then Beaugissa was there, along with Agelet and his fifty riders.

  “Brought your mount.” Agelet threw the reins to Caros and then pointed with his chin. “Time to go.”

  Caros hauled himself onto the horse, his arms shaking.

  “What news of the Libyans?”

  “You need to take a look from the top of the hill. Come on!”

  Racing their mounts past the tail end of the Bastetani, Turdetani and other Iberian warriors, they scrambled their way in a rising cloud of dust to the spine of the hill.

  Already hundreds of warriors lined the hillside, including Dubgetious and Hercle who had held off the Romans.

  One glance at these men and women was enough to see they would not be fighting again that day. Their eyes were sunken wells of that fatigue a warrior knows only after the most bloody of frays.

  Shading his eyes, Caros took in the valley below him. What he saw caused his blood to turn to icy threads. The Ilerget were gone from their place in the north. The mass of mixed Iberian tribes on the left of the Libyans was a mass of butchered corpses.

  M’hatmu’s thousand Masulian horse fought a running battle far to the west, beyond Hanno’s camp which as Caros watched was being pillaged by Roman auxiliaries.

  The greatest loss though was those professional Libyan soldiers and their African cousins. To Caros’ eyes, it looked like they still occupied the very place they had at the start of the battle. From the ragged lines of corpses to their front, it was obvious they had cut deep into the Roman center before being overwhelmed and forced back.

  “They are lost. The core of Hanno’s army. Thrown away.” Caros had no more anger to vent. He looked to his left, to the west where Roman legionaries still waited their turn to go forward to battle. There would be no need. The day was lost. He looked at the sun and thought he must be wrong. It had moved but two fingers across the sky since the battle began. In just that time Hanno had lost an army and given the Romans all the land north of the Ebro.

  His chest grew tight with dread and his stomach threatened to rebel. Caros gritted his teeth and pressed his blood smeared wrist to his mouth. He found a waterskin pressed into his hand and lifted it to his lips, trickling the tepid liquid within down his throat.

  Beaugissa was beside him, her breath warming his icy cold ear and her hand on his elbow.

  “Your Bastetani fought as champions. You led them to battle and more, you kept them alive.”

  He steadied himself and then poured water over his face, wishing it was colder. Throwing aside the empty skin, he lifted his right hand high, where it glowed red with diluted blood.

  “Bastetani! Sedetani! See below us the enemy. See their dead. Slain by our hands!”

  “By the warriors of Caros the Claw!” Neugen shouted and warriors drummed their shields.

  The Romans at the bottom of the hillside lifted their shields, wondering if the warriors eyeing them from above were about to launch an attack. Some of the Bastetani jeered and brandished their weapons, moving down the hill.

  “Stay! There is no more we can do here! There will be other days to kill these Romans.” Caros paced his mount along the front of the massed warriors. “Know this! Every man and woman here made their war names ring today!”

  There was a roar of approval. Warriors grinned and slapped the backs of their kin and companions.

  “Every warrior who did not yet have a war name shall be given one today!”

  He wheeled his mount and closed on Beaugissa, taking her spear arm by the wrist and hauling it high.

  “Beaugissa of the Vascon! Today I name you Spear Heart!”

  “Spear Heart! Spear Heart!” The warriors echoed.

  Beaugissa’s face lifted with astonishment and then her smile broke to the surface and as Caros released her wrist, she whooped and thrust her spear higher.

  “For the Vascon! Fo
r the Bastetani and the Sedetani!” Warriors shouted and ululated.

  “For Caros the Claw!” She shouted across their voices and they drummed their shields louder and repeated, “For Caros the Claw!”

  Caros lifted his right fist, allowing the sun to catch and highlight the freshly wet blood so that it glowed crimson. He pulled his war spear from where it rested beneath his left leg. Trotting down the hill twenty paces, he picked his target from among the oncoming Roman legionaries. A bright red crest, shining helm and dark eyes. The centurion leading the legionaries up the steep hill watched warily and his face tightened when his eyes locked on Caros’. His upper lip lifted around his nostrils in a defiant sneer.

  Caros edged his mount to the right and dropped his spear arm from sight, stretching into it and coiling his mind and muscles.

  The beat of blade on shield and bellows of the Iberians fell silent for two heartbeats.

  Caros unleashed the spear, sending it in a flat arc that saw it plunge down the hill in a bright streak.

  The centurion saw and pushed his shield forward, catching the leaf-shaped blade propelled by the heavy shaft.

  The crack of the impact sounded over the hillside and a collective groan ran through the Iberians.

  Caros lifted his spear arm and clenched his fist. “I am Caros the Claw and I will send many more blades to you!”

  The centurion shifted and the spear shaft moved with his shield. Behind him the legionaries had halted, eyes burning. The Roman stepped forward, sank to a knee and then slowly fell to his side, his shield speared to his chest.

  The Romans howled and the Iberians roared.

  Chapter 24

  Men and women too injured to flee were lifted and tied onto the backs of horses. There were others who carried wounds that would kill them before nightfall. Grim faced kin pressed sharp blades into their hearts so the Romans would not take them. With lesser injuries bound, plundered swords and armor held tight, the Bastetani withdrew from the hillside. These warriors ran, while Hercle and his Sedetani stood at the very spine of the hill, slings ready and piles of stones at their feet.

  Caros sat his mount, watching as in the distance the tight lines of the Libyan warriors splintered and folded. Below him the Romans pressed up the hillside, determined to crush their tiny force and the last hold-outs of the battle.

  Hercle looked up. “They are nearly in range. We will feed them a handful of sling shot each and then run. Go now, there is no reason for you or your warriors to remain.”

  The Romans coming on numbered in the hundreds. Many thousands more were massed about the remnants of Hanno’s army. They would soon all turn this way and make for Cissa.

  “We will see you at Cissa?”

  Hercle’s sling was already beginning to swing in a tight circle. “Is there any point?” He asked.

  Caros grunted. “Fair enough. You and your warriors are owed by the Barcas. I will not forget. Find me with Hasdrubal’s army in the south and I will ensure you receive the silver you are owed.”

  Hercle grinned. “Will.” A buzz whipped through the air sending a rock cracking into a Roman shield. “Ride well Caros the Claw.”

  He left the Sedetani to whip their war slings in deadly arcs, sending Orca’s stones smashing into the Romans. With him rode his companions, tunics and sandals stained to browns and russets, their split knuckles white.

  “I would not want to climb that hill with Hercle and his lot spitting rocks at my head.” Maleric commented as the drumming of rocks on shields and flesh rose behind them.

  “Could have used them at Cissa though. Pity they are not coming.” Neugen looked at his old friend.

  Before them the road ran south, Cissa’s pitiful walls distinct despite the dust raised by the hastening Bastetani.

  “No point them going there. We are going to collect rations and then march south.”

  “Glad you said that. Thought you might want to hold the walls.” Neugen’s laugh strained.

  Mounted, they quickly caught up with the slowest warriors. Those that had suffered injury and were being carried or half-pulled along by kin and companion.

  “The Sedetani are the last between you and the Romans!” Caros called as he broached a dozen or more warriors at the tail of the flight.

  “Cannot go any faster!” A woman snapped, her voice bitter with fear and anger. “My husband lost his sword hand. My son’s leg is spear bit.”

  Others murmured, but most just gritted their teeth and pushed their pace harder.

  Beaugissa threaded her horse through them to the warrior woman. Her husband was ashen-faced, his right arm ended with a blood-soaked wrap, bound tight with cord. Between man and woman, they dragged their son, his hip a mangled gash of flesh and splintered bone.

  “Why did you not put him on a mount?” Beaugissa called to them.

  The others rode up behind her. A quick look over their shoulders revealed the Sedetani warriors scattering as they fled from the crest of the hill.

  “The horses were all gone by the time we found him. We thought he had died on the field.” The woman had a bloodied face and blood seeped from a deep cut above her right elbow. She bore her own wounds stoically. Her eyes darted to the north and widened. Romans were now cresting the hill.

  Maleric laid his huge hand on the boy’s shoulder, ready to pull him onto his mount.

  “Your mount is overburdened.” Caros said. “Swing him up in front of me.” The young warrior hissed in agony when his hip flexed, but otherwise withstood the pain bravely.

  To the silent father, “You can run?”

  “Have to.” The man looked up through pain clouded eyes. “Where to?”

  “South. Do not stop at Cissa. Go beyond it. What is your name?”

  “I am Shel.” The warrior backed away, “Thank you!”

  “Run! Go!” Neugen shouted, seeing the Romans break their lines to chase after the Sedetani.

  The companions helped other injured warriors onto their mounts as they rode towards Cissa. Behind them the Sedetani split into two loose groups, one broke west, making for the rough hills there. The other came down the road at a good pace and soon caught up with the riders.

  Hercle was at their front. “Caros! You should know the Roman horse is circling this way. We saw them before we sprang away from the hill.”

  “I see them!” Neugen pointed at a dark line to their left.

  “You had best make for Cissa, Hercle. If they come on you here in the open, they will cut you down.”

  The Sedetani glanced about, seeing the nearest cover was the line of broken hills to the west to which the rest of his warriors had headed. The Roman auxiliaries would be on them before they reached it. Cissa on the other hand was now just some three stade away.

  He grinned. “To follow you is to wade in a river of blood. We will see you there then.” With a whoop he tore off at a run, leaving the heavily burdened mounts behind.

  Maleric swore bitterly as he watched the Sedetani warriors stream past. “You know they are going to get all the best ale before us.”

  Neugen laughed. “Cissa does not have any best ale.” He clucked his tongue, watching the growing line of riders coming up from the east. “This is going to be tight. What happens if they trap us in Cissa?”

  Caros grimaced, easing the youth a little to his right. “First, we have to get there. That is our biggest worry for now.”

  Rappo, the only rider without a burden, veered his pony to the east. The others watched from the corners of their eyes, but trusted that the young Masulian knew what he was doing. Instead, they focused their energy on eating the distance between them and the ruined walls of Cissa.

  Riding their mounts as fast as they could without collapsing them, they closed the distance to the town steadily. Already the faster Sedetani had mingled with the Bastetani warriors ahead and merged into the shadows below the wall.

  Beaugissa shouted in alarm as a breeze from the east raised the thunder of hooves, bringing the danger still closer
.

  They were less than a stade from the walls, the gates stood open and Bastetani warriors stood in a tight mass before them, readying themselves to fight off the Roman horse.

  The riders split now. A column veering south to ride at the gates. Another turning north to meet the Roman legionaries in the distance there and a smaller group riding directly for Caros and his companions.

  Rappo yelled and turned his pony towards this smaller group.

  “Rappo! No!” Beaugissa cried in dismay.

  “Those are not Romans!” Neugen’s sharp eyes had seen through the dust.

  Caros looked harder and realized the riders were unencumbered by armor and astride horses smaller than the mounts the Iberians or Roman auxiliaries used.

  “They are Masulians!” He shouted with relief. “They must have escaped to the east and then rounded back.”

  Soon enough the smaller group arrived, led by M’hatmu himself with Rappo alongside, concern etched on his face.

  M’hatmu was gray-skinned, even beneath the dirt that covered him and his mount.

  “Greetings, Caros the Claw!” His voice was dry and brittle, a rasp of a thing.

  Beaugissa unslung her waterskin from her shoulder and passed it to the Masulian who took it with a grateful nod. He drank a mere two small swallows and made to pass it back.

  Beaugissa shook her head. “Pass it around. Your fellows look dry as lizards.”

  “It is all over then, M’hatmu?” Caros pointed back towards the approaching enemy.

  The old Masulian smiled sadly. “We gutted their riders as fast as they came, but they overwhelmed us.”

  Maleric coughed. “Know the feeling graybeard. Same happened on our side.”

  Neugen was watching the Romans who were closing the distance fast, even on foot as they were.

  “We waiting for them here or fleeing like the defeated warriors we are?”

  Maleric laughed and Beaugissa scowled.

  “He is right. We should get behind those walls.” Caros turned his mount and led the group to the sagging walls of Cissa.