The Masulian riders had skirted the walls and headed south. The Bastetani warriors were already in the town and the more daring had even climbed the walls, loose rocks rolling and falling from beneath their sandals.
Caros pounded through the gates into bedlam. The citizens of the town flocked the streets, their faces aghast at the news of defeat. Women cried and beat their fists on their thighs or smeared ash and dirt on their tear stained cheeks.
“What do we do here then, Caros?” Neugen shouted.
“The stores. Make for the stores.” Caros shouted over the din.
A warrior emerged from a group of spearmen. Dubgetious. He looked like the rest of them, ragged and bleeding. His helm was dented too badly to wear and hung from a torn leather band at his waist.
“Caros! We cannot hold this town! We can barely get any men on the walls and a child could poke holes through the gates.” He grimaced, one eye stained red and blood flowed between his teeth, giving him a haunting look.
Caros pulled his mount to a sharp halt on the rough street. “We need to empty the stores that Hanno kept here and take them south to Hasdrubal.”
“There is no time though. The Romans will be here before we have loaded a handful of carts.” The skilled champion argued.
“The stores are empty, Caros.”
Caros whipped his head about to face M’hatmu who shrugged. “Hannibal Barca stored all the reserve stores here. How can they be empty?”
“Hanno emptied the stores. He took it all with him to the field.”
“What! Why?” Caros was dumbfounded.
“He suspected the Gyptos in charge here, Jabari would empty them himself and take to the sea.”
“So, he took it all and lost it to the Romans instead.” Caros growled.
A horn sounded from the north wall, adding to the chaos in the streets.
Dubgetious stared north. “That will be the Romans forming up beyond the gates.” He looked back at Caros. “Time to run?”
“No!”
All the warriors turned to look at Beaugissa, who sat astride her mount, her face wretched.
“No, we must buy time for the citizens here to flee south.” Her words were softly said, but forceful.
Caros’ heart fell. She was right. They were the blades and they could not allow the Romans to simply storm Cissa and exact revenge on the innocents that lived there. They had won a victory, but the deaths and injuries they had taken would make them vengeful. They would want to expel their fear of death by dealing it out on the innocent here.
Caros looked at Dubgetious and saw from the expression in the warrior’s eye that he felt the same.
Dubgetious grinned. “Well, why make it easy for them, hey?”
Caros grinned back. “They have a hard fight on their hands for empty stores.”
The southern gate became a seething mass of fleeing towns people in heartbeats. Caros sent out the word to every willing warrior to man the narrow streets behind the north gate. Those that could find a way onto the walls without bringing down the cursed thing, took with them handfuls of light spears. Hercle and his Sedetani were the first up, agile as mountain deer.
Most of the warriors heeded the call of the warhorns and after slacking their thirst on wine and ale, crammed themselves shoulder to shoulder in the streets. More climbed onto the flat roofs of the squat stone buildings.
Caros stood at the north gate, peering through wide gaps in the timber that in paces fell to dust at a mere touch.
The Romans had come on fast, their blood up and with a town to loot, their eyes already swimming with thoughts of satisfying their flesh.
He estimated perhaps five hundred forming lines two deep across the face of the gate and out of the range of spears or sling shot.
Five hundred fresh and vengeful legionaries in good chain and with sturdy shields. He and his Iberians could stop them and even drive them back. Beyond them though, came a wide column of legionaries, a thick winding serpent of steel. The double tramp of their spiked sandals, like a drum beat to war.
He turned. Neugen was pale faced, drops of sweat standing proud on his brow. Maleric was frowning and humming some deep tune from his northern homelands.
Rappo stood restless beside his pony, a handful of light spears gripped tight. Beaugissa paced anxiously, her eyes on the backs of the fleeing townspeople.
“There are a lot of Romans out there. Not many of us here.” His voice drew their eyes. The eyes of the other champions too. “We will hold here against the first wave and then fall back into the streets.”
“Let them in?” Beaugissa asked.
He nodded. “They will smash through these gates in moments. Their numbers will not count so much once they are crowded into the narrows between the buildings.”
Trumpets blared from beyond the walls. A Sedetani on the wall called a warning. “They are coming!”
Caros grunted and drew his falcata. Raising his voice so all could hear him he called, “Warriors of Iberia! We are not here to defeat the Romans!” Men and women growled and spat. “We just hold them until the townspeople have escaped. No more than that!”
Still the warriors looked on in anger and Caros shook his head. “You want to see the Romans defeated?”
Now they clashed their blades and stamped their feet. “Then make these bastards bleed, but do not waste your lives, instead live to fight again alongside our brothers and sisters who come north with the Barca, Hasdrubal!” He raised his sword and grinned. “You all have war names! Shout them aloud and let the Romans know they will never be at peace in our lands!”
A great roar rolled over him as the massed warriors did just that and then those on the walls began to hurl their spears and spin their slings.
“Shields!” Caros bellowed. He raised his own, turning to face the gates, his companions close at his shoulders. He saw Rappo leap onto his mount and trot into the shadows from where he could launch his spears and stay out of the press of bodies.
“Rappo! Be sure to get out the gate when we fall back!”
Beaugissa smiled at him and blinked. “You know he will stay as long as you do?”
He laughed as screams and roars sounded from beyond the walls. “I plan on leaving, but not before I have struck a few more Romans dead.”
Maleric swung his sword. “Well, they are going to have to get past me before you can do that.” He grinned. “How about you buy me a cup of ale for each Roman I skewer?”
“I buy all your ale anyway, but do not let that stop you slaughtering the buggers!”
A warrior on the wall grunted as a Roman spear took him, knocking him onto his back. The man skidded off the wall, bringing down a small avalanche of rock with him. The gate rocked with a sudden heavy thud. The old timber bowed and creaked, whole lengths falling loose.
“Get off the walls!” Caros shouted to the defenders who were now angling their slingshot straight down. Men who had hurled all their remaining spears were dropping rocks onto the heads of the Romans beneath the wall.
Some heeded his call and scrambled down, their eyes white. Others had not heard over the din of the Roman trumpets and Iberian warhorns. They called their war names and then they were grappling with legionaries who had climbed ladders or simply scaled the poor excuse of a wall. The left side of the gate lurched and tore free of its great hinges, the wood simply melting away from the nails. The right followed suit, and both slammed to the ground.
The Romans followed, their shields before them and their voices a fury of growling menace.
Spears clattered into them from the nearest roof tops, dropping single men here and there. The Romans did not pause when they caught sight of the massed warriors to their fore. Instead, they lurched into a run, scenting victory and a town to be sacked.
“Drive them back!” Caros called and charged, his companions with him and fifty more warriors besides.
They drove into the Roman shields, lancing their blades at faces, into mouths and throats.
; Maleric flicked his sword casually through a Roman’s throat, kicked his shield and sent the legionary spinning with blood fountaining high.
A legionary screamed and stabbed at the Gaul. Caros’ blade took the man’s arm at the elbow. Beaugissa finished the suddenly gasping man with a spear to his throat.
The sound of violence was endless between the stone buildings of the town. Caros hacked and kicked, keeping the Romans from closing their shields into a wall. Still, they came through the gate or over the wall where the few defenders had succumbed.
He was driven back by a pair of legionaries who came at him from two sides. Their short swords flicked from the cover of their shields, too fast to counter. They were veterans, their armor and stance told of countless previous battles. He growled and feinted at one, spun and delivered a brutal blow to the shield rim of the other. The falcata splintered the shield, but Caros was already spinning away from the second Roman. They came at him relentlessly, their eyes bright with hate.
An object thumped into a man’s shield and he laughed as it rolled to the ground. Caros saw a head, eyes bulging and throat a bloody red wound. The legionary’s head, still encased in helm, spun in circles at their feet.
Maleric leapt to Caros’ shoulder, his hands red with blood. He kicked the spinning head across the rocky street and snarled at the two Romans.
“You are next little figs.” His eyes and teeth shone from his blood smeared face as his lips twisted with his words.
Around them, the Bastetani warriors outnumbered the Romans who were at last backing up, trying to form lines and hold the gate.
Caros leapt at the Roman with the splintered shield, kicking his sandal into the bottom lip and on into the Romans left shin. Maleric struck at the second, his sword ringing off the man’s helm, staggering him.
With an oath, Caros batted away the Roman’s sword as it plunged at his gut and hacked across the top of the man’s shield, scoring a blow to his temple. The Roman stumbled, eyes rolling and then Neugen was there, slamming his blade into the legionary’s own, sending it spiraling away. Then he punched the point of the sword hard into the legionary’s lower stomach, splitting the chain armor and driving the cold iron deep into the man’s vitals.
The Roman survivors now held the mouth of the gate, their shields locked. Bastetani and legionaries lay in clusters of dead everywhere. More Romans were coming over the walls either side of the gates.
A Roman spear took a warrior through the neck and the man folded silently to the ground.
“To the streets!” Caros cried, knowing more spears would rain on them in just heartbeats.
His warriors fell back, chests pumping and the madness of battle suddenly run dry.
They retreated from the open killing ground at the gate into the narrow streets.
“They really want this town.” Neugen said, shaking his sword hand in an effort to get feeling back into it.
A battle roar rose from the streets to the east, chased closely by the ring of metal on metal. Screams followed.
“They have come in elsewhere. The bastards are pushing fast.” Maleric cursed.
Caros took a deep calming breath. “Nothing we can do about that now. Shields up, they are coming.” He whispered a hurried invocation to Runeovex and rolled his shoulders.
The legionaries at the gate were tramping forward now, their numbers swelled with men from outside the walls. The crack of their nailed boots on the broken stone of the road sounded like a thousand iron picks chewing through a mountain.
Warriors on the rooftops hurled spears at the oncoming Romans along with insults.
The spears floored a scant handful of Romans. They had seen the danger and the legionaries in the second and third ranks had quickly lifted their shields to cover their heads.
A deep voice barked an order in Latin and the legionaries were suddenly pounding towards the street. From behind them came a curtain of iron spears that flicked men off the rooftops or plunged into the tightly packed Bastetani warriors in the street.
A spear struck Caros’ shield and lodged. He cursed and hacked at it, but the Roman spear had a long iron shank and his blade skipped off it with a flash of sparks. Cursing again, he pulled his arm free of the leather thong on the inside of the shield and threw it, spear still attached, a few paces ahead of him.
The Romans let loose a deep roar and sprang at him and his warriors.
With no shield, Caros was an easy target. A legionary rammed his shield at Caros who grabbed its upper rim and dragged it down. He punched his sword over the rim at the face of the Roman. His blade was not long, but pressed tight as they were, he opened the man’s cheek to the bone. At the same moment he felt a shock of cold pass across his gut.
With a guttural cry of fear and horror, he pushed the Roman back and glanced down. Blood stained his tunic where the gladius had pierced the thin chain mesh. His skin had been sliced, but the wound went no deeper.
A hand closed over his shoulder and he was pulled roughly backwards into a melee of men flailing with swords and spears. A Bastetani warrior hacked at a Roman, a hard overhand swing, but the legionary ducked aside and the warrior lost his balance and crashed to his knee, his sword splintering against stone.
The Roman flicked his gladius at the man’s throat, opening a deep sucking hole below his ear.
The Roman glanced at Caros and took a step towards him only to be hurled sideways as two men crashed into him. They had lost their blades and were instead groping for one another’s eyes. The Bastetani got a thumb inside the Roman’s cheek and ripped the man’s mouth wide. Blood sprayed and the Roman screamed and went berserk with pain.
Caros blocked a sword that licked at him from his left and managed to catch a Roman by his wrist. He pulled the man towards him, but the Roman lashed at him with his shield’s rim. The edge caught Caros on the jaw and light exploded behind his eyes. He gripped tighter and lanced his sword into the Roman’s side meeting only shield and so hacked at the man’s trapped arm. The falcata opened the flesh to the elbow with a gush of blood that caused Caros to lose his grip.
He stumbled into a wall, gasping for breath. A rock dropped from the roof above him, slamming into the shoulder of a Roman who was about to grind him against the wall. Instead, the legionary groaned and staggered away, his eyes white with pain.
This could not go on. The Romans were unstoppable. More of them pushed into the street, flattening their own wounded beneath their sandals, tearing flesh from their own people’s bodies, crushing wrists and ankles just to get at the Bastetani. His warriors were falling fast and a few had already thrown away their shields and fled.
He spied Maleric in the middle of the street, the lethal Dubgetious fighting at his side.
Neugen was twenty paces down the street with another dozen Bastetani warriors. They were holding off ten Romans, but falling back with every blow.
Caros grabbed at a shield laying nearby and found it was still tethered to a warrior who choked out a scream. The warrior’s chest was open, sliced ribs standing proud of the thick muscle. Caros glimpsed the man’s beating heart in that ruin of blood and flesh.
“Your fight is over brave warrior.” Caros drove his blade into the man’s throat and up into his head.
Struggling to free the shield, he dropped his blade and knelt. He ripped the shield off the warriors limp arm at last and as he did so, he sensed a shadow fall over him. Snatching for his blade, he dived to that same side just as a legionary’s sword stabbed into the street where he had been crouched. Caros fumbled for the sword’s hilt and lost his grip, his palm slick with blood. He crashed to his hip as the Roman spun towards him, dark eyes alight with blood lust. A second legionary appeared, a bronze cuirass over chain and a bloodstained sword held at the ready. The first Roman grudgingly stepped aside as the senior legionary snarled at Caros and stabbed at his chest. Caros rolled desperately, felt the burn of metal kissing his right shoulder. He came up sharp against the body of a legionary. Even in death these Rom
ans fought on. This one’s ripped chain armor snagged on Caros’ empty scabbard and as he tried to slide over the body, he felt himself slow and then stop, trapped. Crawling at the feet of the conquering Roman legionaries. No way to die, his mind screamed as he struggled to loosen the iron chain links ensnaring him. There was no time. The Roman, vicious for killing, laughed cruelly and stabbed again at Caros, aiming for a knee so as to prolong the sport.
Caros flailed his leg and the blade opened the skin of his outer thigh. It felt like a bucket of burning water had been dumped on his leg. He cursed and wrenched not at the chain mail, but his belt buckle. It released, and he was free of the legionary’s death grip.
Caros scrambled to his hands and a knee, one foot braced behind him. In his right hand he held his short knife which he’d pulled from his belt as he had desperately unbuckled it.
He glared up at the Roman, recognition dawning. “You!” The pox scarred face and the crudely shaped penis symbol inked into the skin of his sword arm triggered Caros’ memory. With a smile equally as vicious as the Roman’s, he gestured with the fingers of his left hand for the Roman to come. “I have been looking for you. Ready to fight a real warrior, Latin?” His voice, as brittle as iron on a whetstone, caused the Roman’s eyes to widen and his step to falter.
Recovering, the Roman legionary’s lips lifted into a sneer of contempt. “Do not use my language with that pig mouth.”
Caros spat. “It is a hardship, but no less than gutting you.” He launched himself as he uttered the words. The Roman was fast, dropping back and driving his gladius forward to impale Caros through the chest.
Only a fool would have charged straight into the Roman’s sword. Instead, Caros pivoted on his left wrist and swept his right leg under the Roman’s reach and batted his left leg out from beneath him. The legionary hissed and went down, behind him the spearman cursed and stabbed at Caros over his fellow’s torso.
Caros grasped the spear behind the oddly shaped head and pulled it past him, rolling with it and tripping the spearman over the other’s prone body. He slashed at the spearman, feeling the knife open the man’s groin.
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