Maharra

by J Glenn Bauer

  The boy did not pause and Caros strained to hear him whisper over the rasp of sand on metal. “She killed my sister. I was not able to save her or escape. My father will be angry with me.”

  Caros took a breath, his heart swelling with pity. “Your father will understand. Sometimes even a warrior cannot prevent harm from coming to those he loves.” Caros allowed the words to sink in and when the boy still did not respond he sank to a knee beside him. “What is your father’s name?”

  “His name is Artur. He is a great warrior.”

  Caros smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Then he will be glad when you are returned to him and one day you too will be a great warrior.”

  Reassured, the boy grinned shyly and held up the cuirass after wiping away the sand with the wool. “It shines in the dark and is heavier than my fathers.”

  “You’ve done a fine job. Now take it and the rest to the pavilion and be sure to eat.” Caros stood. “I cannot keep calling you boy. What is your name?”

  “I am called Lanca. It means spear.” He smiled proudly.

  Caros watched the boy gather up the armour and trot off to the pavilion. He was glad the boy had found his tongue. Establishing where he came from and returning him to his family should not be an insurmountable problem. Nevertheless, Caros found that a part of his heart he kept closed off had revealed itself. If the course of his life had not run as it had, he might even now have been father to a son. Ilimic, had she not taken her life after been abducted, would have been a fine mother. Caros growled at allowing his thoughts to turn to what could have been. It was as he had told young Lanca, not even a warrior could always protect those he loved.

  Aksel called from the gloom. “Caros, what are you up to?”

  Caros turned and saw Aksel’s tall figure against the glow of the campfires. “Just seeing to the lad. He has found his tongue at last.”

  Aksel’s teeth flashed white. “I am glad to hear it. He is a sturdy little chap.” The Masulian went on. “Our scouts just returned from east of here. They were involved in a skirmish and one of their number was killed.”

  “Shit! Not with the Aeronosii I hope?” Caros felt his blood surge. If the Aeronosii were in fact hostile, their tribesmen might descend on them at any moment.

  “We cannot be sure, but if it was, I do not think they were acting on their chieftain’s orders.”

  Caros trusted Aksel’s judgement and relaxed somewhat. “What happened?”

  “They went scouting out east and were returning before sunset as ordered. They encountered a force of five mounted men heading towards the coast. They say it was at a bridge and the five strangers were as startled as they were. They know the broad outline of our mission and are under orders not to abuse the population, so they greeted the men peacefully.”

  Caros was gratified the Masulian chieftain had commanded that his warriors behave while they were in Aeronosii lands. “What went wrong? What caused the fight?”

  “I asked and my men could not say. The strangers never returned the greeting, instead they charged straight through my men, killing one as they did so.” Aksel spat off into the night. “I know his parents.” He added gloomily.

  “Can your chaps describe these brigands?” Already Caros was wondering if the incident could be used to sting Gualbes and lessen the amount of silver demanded.

  “They say they remember little of the men, but they would recognize their horses anywhere.”

  That said a lot about the Masulians. They were born to ride and would be riding their first horse almost as soon as they could walk. They would hardly spare a dying man a second glance, but if they saw a horse mistreated; they would quickly intercede.

  “Your men brought back their fallen comrade I assume?”

  “His body is being prepared for burial according to custom.”

  “Perhaps Gualbes should attend. Would it be in accordance with your customs to allow an extra day before burial?”

  Aksel was silent a moment in thought. “We bury our people at sunset so that their spirit may accompany the great orb into the night. It would be an honorable thing if this Gualbes sanctioned the use of a prominent cave as a tomb.” He sighed. “It is unsettling leaving a comrade’s tomb in foreign lands unless there are assurances the grave will not be desecrated.”

  “Speak to your men. I will speak with Gualbes of this and insist that the Aeronosii permit us the use of a burial tomb. It will be part of the treaty. You can assure your men of this.” Caros locked his friend’s right arm in his and embraced him as a trusted fellow warrior.

  Chapter 5

  The deep thrum of a leather and wood drum sounded. Its beat echoed from granite cliffs and surged across the valley before rolling away into the mountains. Birds lifted in great dun and black waves from newly sown fields and wheeled overhead before winging rapidly away. Even as the first beat died, another sounded and now a horn joined. Dogs began to bark and voices were raised, deep guttural curses of men and the higher voices of women and children. The drum beat rhythmically now while the horns called from all corners of the palisade and the unmistakable sounds of armour and weaponry rang forth from behind the walls.

  Caros eyed the heavily manned walls before him and felt his skin tighten under the stares of those warriors. Behind him and Adicran the five hundred strong Masulian column stretched across the valley. They had risen before dawn to wash and preen, their skin chaffed clean of dirt and their hair braided and set with rendered oils. They ensured their armour shone and sat firm. They inspected one another and made adjustments as necessary. The Libyans, of which there were just eighty, wore chain mail and polished helmets. Their shields, freshly painted a week earlier, were unwrapped to reveal the crimson emblem of Tanit against a field of white. The Masulians wore no armour and dressed in loose fitting tunics tied at the waist with a red sash. They wrapped their head in long twists of fabric matching their sashes so that their hair was hidden and the turbans sat high on their heads. They had spent time currying their horses, removing dirt and parasites and ensuring their coats shone. They braided their tails, shaved intricate patterns into the coarse hair on the fore shoulder and ensured their hooves were cleaned, trimmed and oiled. Finally, when all was done and they looked like envoys of the great Barcas of Carthage and Iberia, they had set forth for Olot, the principle settlement of the Aeronosii and the seat of Gualbes, their chieftain.

  The road angled up towards the palisade gates and at this point Adicran held up his hand signaling the column to halt. “This is where you and I earn our keep.” He growled to Caros.

  The Libyan was not accustomed to missions of this nature and Caros could read the nervous tension in the set of the man’s square jaw. “I expect the chieftain will send for us to be taken to him. Just keep scowling like that until we reach him.” Caros chided Adicran who favoured him with a baleful look and then despite himself smiled. “How difficult can this be eh?” He stared at the walls towering above them. “Sagunt was a tougher nut to crack and we pulled through that.”

  “We’re here to make peace and win over an ally. Laugh at his jests and compliment his wine.” Caros admonished Adicran.

  “Even if it tastes like camel piss?”

  Caros lifted his eyebrows as a sudden motion rocked the palisade gates. In the next moment, they began to draw apart. He sat straighter and curbed his mare’s tense prancing. From the shadows beyond the gates issued two horsemen. The riders wore full armour and as they approached Caros noted their ages differed markedly. So an experienced warrior, perhaps Gualbes’ right hand man and the younger perhaps a son or nephew. The riders walked their well-groomed mounts forward unhurriedly.

  Adicran edged his mount forward and lifted his hand, palm forward. “Greetings to the people of Olot. Greetings in the name of the Barcas and the General, Hannibal Barca. Greetings from blessed Carthage. It is an honour to treat with Olot and the people of the Aeronosii. It would be our great honour to meet the chieftain, Gualbes. I am Adicran, humble servant
of Hannibal Barca and Carthage.”

  Under Caros’ instruction, he had rehearsed until he could almost recite the greeting backwards.

  Adicran swept his left arm toward Caros. “Caros of the Bastetani known also as Claw of the Lion. A friend and ally to General Hannibal and Carthage.”

  Caros inclined his head and as agreed, rode his mount forward. “Greetings from the Bastetani, the Turdetani, the Contestani and all allied tribes of Iberia.” He looked the older man in the eye. Silence enveloped the valley and it seemed that all time ceased. The two pairs of horsemen sat their horses and stared at one another, eyes flickering from face to face. Caros had warned Adicran this may occur. It was often employed by warriors to measure the mettle of their opposites. Still, as heartbeats passed, it seemed the Aeronosii would never speak. A drop of sweat fell from the padding under the rim of the Libyan’s helmet onto his cheek and rolled into the thick black beard covering the man’s jaw and Caros willed him to remain silent. Heartbeats later, the younger man slowly inclined his head as though still half expecting them to speak first.

  “Greetings from Olot and the Aeronosii. We extend to you our hospitality in every way and are gladdened by your arrival. I am Juan, son of Gualbes.” The young man paused and then gestured to his right. “My father, Gualbes, Chief of the Aeronosii.”

  Caros had begun to suspect the elder man was more than an envoy. His bearing seemed to radiate a presence that defied men to think him less than a leader. He noticed Adicran stiffened as though slapped. Caros cursed and quickly took the lead, bowing his head just enough to indicate respect, but not enough to be accused of fawning. From the corner of his eye, he watched Adicran recover and do likewise.

  The Aeronosii chieftain smiled, showing his teeth. “Welcome to Olot envoys of Hannibal!” The man’s voice boomed from his barrel chest and filled the morning air. “I and my people have looked forward to this meeting as we have heard much of your General and Carthage. Be assured that no harm will come to you or to any of your men. This will be a time of feasting and pleasantries!” He lifted a hand and from the wall above came the sound of a hundred men hurrahing.

  Flanked by Gualbes and his son, Caros and Adicran entered the Aeronosii settlement of Olot. Within the gates, they dismounted and their horses were led away by youths. The settlement was built onto the side of a mountain; its streets were rocky and steep. The horses would be impractical to ride. In any case, the buildings of Olot were built so close to one another that there was scarce room for two to ride abreast. The building of stone and wood canted alarming above their heads or bulged under the weight of timber beams holding their thatched roofs in place. Caros and Adicran were ushered uphill on a more or less straight street, towards the highest point in the settlement. Adicran looked behind him once to beyond the gates where his column stood motionless. Caros caught his eye and gestured to his front. It would seem like fear to look back although Caros knew that it was Adicran’s concern for his men that prompted him to do so. The Aeronosii chief set a rigorous pace, probably testing them, Caros thought. He had discovered that people who lived on mountains tended to walk fastest when walking uphill. He breathed deeply and was gratified to find that the air was untainted. Breaking into bright sunlight, the men entered a wide common of beaten earth in the centre of which stood a copse of ancient trees.

  The chieftain took the opportunity to turn and smile at them. “Olot has been here for more than ten generations. A mighty hero took refuge here from a storm one night. The javelins of Runeovex burned across the heavens while Orko’s stone hammer thundered deep in the mountains and yet Alorcus slept soundly. When he awoke, he found that the god’s spears had struck the trees and their leaves had burned to ashes and yet he was unscathed. He stood and as he did, the trees began to sprout new leaves and grass knitted across the burned mountain, consuming the ash and all became green. He returned with his clan and so founded Olot.” Gualbes braced his legs and hands on hips, gazed about the common, as though mirroring the ancient hero.

  Instead of commenting on the legend, Caros watched the younger Aeronosii, Juan. If there was any tension between chieftain and aspirant, at that moment it was not obvious. Looking further as the chieftain spoke of past glories, Caros noticed the people of Olot forming a wide circle at the edge of the common. Warriors and women all looked in good health, which said much for Gualbes chieftainship and the wealth of the Aeronosii for winters were long and hard in the mountains. This could make all the difference in setting a price on a treaty. Caros’ attention switched to movement from across the common. A band of warriors was emerging from a large building. Caros saw immediately that they were armed and dressed in full armour. He felt Adicran’s stare and returned his look with a reassuring nod. The warriors approached with loud voices and it was obvious more than a few had already had a skinful of ale. Their laughter sounded across the common at some jest. As they approached, Gualbes drew himself straight and turned to Adicran and Caros. “I would bid you be at peace. These men, from among my many warriors, are my most trusted and able.” He turned to them. “You drunken dog-tits had better have left some ale for our guests or better yet, brought your own!”

  One of the warriors, taller than the others and broad-chested, stepped forward, dark eyes flashing below a heavy forehead. His hair hung festooned with ribbons of lynx fur and blew unhindered across his face. His voice rumbled from his chest like a rockslide. “So, these are the mighty Carthaginians!” His gaze took in Adicran’s swarthy features before swiveling to fix on Caros. He jerked his chin at Adicran. “You do not look like him?”

  Gualbes stood by silently, his arms folded over his chest as his men circled Caros and Adicran. The smell of fermented grain rose from the warriors and lay strong on their breath. Caros saw the muscle in Adicran’s jaw knot and felt the same tension.

  His expression impassive, Caros looked across at Adicran and smiled. “We are brothers in arms.” The tall warrior glared at Caros silently. “I am Caros and my commander here is Adicran.” Caros spoke with deeply and with confidence. This was no time to show nerves and nothing did that like the set of tense shoulders or darting eyes. He waited to see if the warrior would offer his name in return, but instead he grunted another question.

  “Does your great general think it beneath him to seek an alliance in person then?” His eyes burned into Caros.

  “Hannibal Barca has many duties as general in command and regrets he could not be here in person.” Caros answered diplomatically. He turned to Gualbes. “Instead he has asked that you receive us as his representatives and wishes you to know that he will richly reward an alliance with the mighty Aeronosii.”

  Gualbes dipped his chin in acknowledgement. “Castrodubis is my Captain and speaks from the heart. As chieftain of the Aeronosii I am happy to accept your General’s excuses.” The tension in the group dissipated somewhat. “Now though is not the time to discuss treaties and alliances.” He looked across the common and signalled to the people who stood watching at a distance. As one they moved and a throng of people bearing a feast of slaughtered carcasses already fixed to poles came forward. Others hauled large amphorae of fermented ale while still more came bearing drinking cups and horns. In a short time, several fires burned and the aroma of roasting meat rose over the settlement.

  Caros and Adicran sat on rough, but sturdy benches beside Gualbes. They found elaborately decorated drinking horns filled with ale thrust into their hands. Caros caught Adicran’s eye and gave a slight nod. It appeared that Gualbes was honest about wanting a treaty or alliance. Now it was just a matter of enjoying the hospitality shown to them before they hammered out the details of the treaty.

  Gualbes lifted his horn and raised his voice over the babble of voices. “May the gods grant us, the children of Alorcus, strong arms and full bellies!” Warriors bellowed their replies and a river of drink gushed down their throats. Gualbes wiped the back of his hand across his lips. “Welcome all friends of the Aeronosii!” He shouted before tossing
back the last of the drink. He sat as the gathering responded and a young boy took the horn and plunged it into a vat, filling it to the brim and returning it to the chieftain.

  “There is a matter I wish to bring before you as Chieftain of the Aeronosii.” Caros judged it best to resolve the issue of the burial tomb sooner rather than later.

  “Oh?” Gualbes’ eyes narrowed.

  “A misfortune occurred with some of our warriors a day past. They were set upon by brigands and one unfortunate was slain.” Caros noticed the skin about Gaulbes’ eyes tighten. “Be assured that we do not hold the Aeronosii responsible. We would simply petition you for a burial tomb.”

  Adicran added. “At our expense of course.”

  Gualbes frowned and shook his head. “Such brigands have become more of a menace these last years. They come from the south and infest our lands like fleas.” He spat at the ground between his boots. “It will be done. There are good tombs for use in the east. I will send a guide to show your men the way.”

  “We are grateful.” Adicran dipped his head formally and Caros smiled to himself at the Libyan who seemed to have regained his confidence.

  Gualbes shrugged and raised his horn. “To those that cross the domains of Saur!”

  Adicran followed suit and as Caros lifted his horn, he noticed a portion of the crowd turn to follow the approach of a lone figure. He watched curiously as a tall, slender woman parted the throng effortlessly to emerge before them. Drink forgotten, he drank in her appearance. No older than he, she stood tall and straight, her chin held high on an elegant neck. Eyes, quickened by curiosity, stared at him from beneath a high forehead. Her lips were set in a line, but Caros guessed at the missing smile that might transform them. She raised a hand and brushed a wayward lock of hair from her face and Caros found he was holding his breath, as though expecting a signal. She started forward, the fine flax linen of her white dress briefly outlining her long legs as she walked.