A Libyan captain loped over to Caros, his face impassive. “Your orders?”
Caros cursed inwardly at this madness. Was Gualbes such a fool? Hannibal’s Libyan warriors were amongst the best in the world. They were well trained and the hard veterans of countless battles in some theatre or other in Africa and Iberia. Still they numbered just eighty men and their camp had no fortifications. Facing the hundreds that Gualbes could muster, they could easily be surrounded and destroyed. Already the camp followers were melting away, hoping to make the southern valley walls and escape any conflict in the wild hills.
“Stand your men down. There is little we can do if they wish to offer battle.”
The captain grunted and stared past Caros as mounted Aeronosii divided and encircled the camp. The main mass of Aeronosii warriors marched forward on a broad front. At their head, rode head rode Gualbes’ son, Juan.
The captain spoke again. “If it is all the same, my men will fight to the last. We did not come all this way to end our lives as slaves hewing rock or tilling fields.” The man’s face betrayed none of the frustration boiling inside him.
“I will speak with them. There may be no need for battle.”
Juan halted his warriors within javelin throw of the Libyans. Sitting his horse casually he pushed forward alone. Caros glanced longingly at his mare tethered with the other mounts near the tree line, wishing he could meet the chieftain’s son on equal terms. He shook his head, set his shoulders and stepped forward.
“Juan. What is the meaning of this? Is this how the Aeronosii honour a treaty?”
The young warrior smiled coldly. “This is not about the treaty. You agreed a blood-debt and we have come to collect it.”
“I offered to grant compensation out of respect for a good rider. Even now, our warriors have gone to fetch a skilled healer to set your man’s leg.” Caros felt the weight of a thousand eyes on him as the massed Aeronosii warriors hissed and cursed from their ranks.
“Izagirre has no need for a healer. Already his soul is loose and limping across the lands of Saur.” The Aeronosii were growing wilder. They had been drinking in the sun all day and were becoming flushed with battle rage.
Caros paled and beads of sweat breaking out across his brow. “So soon?” He voiced his disbelief.
Juan’s eyes blazed. “His bleeding could not be stopped. Perhaps he was fortunate to be spared a foul death with his leg rotting and poisoning him.”
“You blame me for his death? That is absurd! Where is his kin? Let them stand forth and fight me and we’ll see justice when I remove their heads!”
“Lower your sword and accept your fate or we will kill every man here Bastetani!” Gualbes’ son was red in the face as he shouted.
Caros cursed. “What kind of blood-debt is that? Are his kin such sniveling cowards they will not fight me!” At Juan’s back, Caros saw a warrior break ranks and launch a javelin at him. He followed the flight of the missile which whipped past his shoulder and buried itself in the ground. The Libyan captain called out a sharp order and there was a clash of shields hefted and swords and spears readied. More warriors, yelling insults and emboldened by their numbers, launched their javelins. Caros found his voice and shouted in anger. “Your father is a coward sending you to butcher us, one and all. A coward and breaker of oaths!”
The young warrior spun his horse around, his eyes wild. “I will take your head, Bastetani!” He raked his boots along his mount’s flanks and charged.
Caros drew his falcata and spun away from the onrushing mount, hacking as it passed. The blow carried all the power of his shoulders and waist, effortlessly taking the Aeronosii’s leg above the knee. Gualbes’ son screamed with pain and fear as his leg fell away. Caros’ blow had also opened a deep gash in the horse’s flank and it reared, throwing Juan to the ground, his blood pumping from the hideous wound. Caros snarled and leaping into the face of the enraged Aeronosii warriors, grabbing a fistful of Juan’s hair. He swung his blade and the warrior’s head lifted free of his shoulders.
A grey-haired warrior with blood stained garments, hurled his javelin at Caros. “Kill the bastard!”
Caros laughed, deflected the oncoming javelin with his blade and tossed the bloody head at their front ranks. He danced backwards to reach the Libyans who were forced to weather more and more speeding javelins. A hand gripped Caros by the neck of his cuirass and dragging him into the cover of their ranks.
Chapter 8
Juan’s death signaled the onslaught. Those horsemen that had encircled the column, swept towards the Libyan flanks and loosed a flight of javelins. The missiles found marks among all ranks, falling on those in the centre and scything down men on the edges. The Libyans shuffled closer, cursing, praying and weeping bitter tears. The horsemen turned away and with feral whoops, set of across the valley in pursuit of the camp followers.
The Libyan captain ordered his men to loose their javelins. Happy to strike back, but hindered by their tight formation, the men hurled their javelins haphazardly. Now the advancing Aeronosii jeered as these fell harmlessly amongst them, few doing more that scratch armour here and there. Caros drew his falcata and hefted his shield. He glared through a mist of anger on the grey-haired warrior who now seemed to lead the Aeronosii.
“We will die like hares struck full of arrows if we just stand here. Signal the charge!” Caros snapped at the captain.
The Libyan smiled grimly, happy to take the fight to the Aeronosii, even though it was a suicide charge. He shouted his orders and a horn trumpeted. The Libyans cheered and clashed their swords and spears on their shields. Three times came the horn and crash of iron and then with a roar, they charged. It was a ghastly run into a withering hail of piercing iron. Caros ran at the front, beside him the Captain. The Aeronosii roared their welcome and loosed their javelins and in the narrowing distance, these exacted a deadly toll. The broken Libyan line crashed into the Aeronosii and for a moment they exulted in retribution. Their strength, skill and desperation drove them deep into the Aeronosii ranks. Shields batting away the Aeronosii’s own, their stabbing swords and spears punching with deadly result through leather encased gut.
Caros singled out Grey-hair. That warrior’s eyes had widened as the Libyans sprinted forward and Caros leaped forward catching the man as he tried to back up. Caros smashed his shield against the other’s, throwing him backwards and Caros brought his falcata down in a powerful overhand strike. The warrior screamed in terror and then the powerful blade bit through his helmet and head. Caros felt bodies driving into his back and all around him were roars, screams and above all the ring of iron on iron. He twisted manically on the falcata to free it and in doing so opened the dead man’s skull wide. With the blade free, he punched it again and again at the mass of warriors pressing towards him. He opened up one man’s cheek and took another’s eye. A heavy spearhead punched into his shield and almost gouged out an eye.
Like a dying man’s breath, the last of the momentum faded from the Libyan charge and the Aeronosii were shoving them back, folding their lines and encircling them. Caros saw the Captain driven to his knees by numerous blows with rusted swords. Blood ran from his mouth, nose and ears and still he swayed on his knees, lashing out with his sword. Caros pushed and stabbed his way to within touching distance of the Captain. He sensed a change in the battle at that moment. The strident blare of warhorns carried over the clash and ring of arms and the warriors about the encircled Libyans seemed to ease their assault and break contact. Caros reached the Captain who swayed heavily to his feet. The warriors facing them were of a different status now. Gone were the low ranking warriors with the poorly fitting helmets and rusted swords and spears. Instead, the elite of the Aeronosii now surrounded the surviving Libyans. To a man, their weapons were well honed and gleamed in the fading day.
No more than a score of Libyans were left standing and able to fight. Blood and bile stained their armour, their hands and their drawn faces. They gathered close, their warrior hearts s
inging their death songs. None could conceive of an outcome other than death.
A ripple amongst the Aeronosii signaled another phase. Caros gripped his sword hilt tightly and his face, already taught with battle stress, tightening still further, his lips thinned and his teeth showed through his blood-flecked beard. The ripple became a tunnel and Gualbes appeared astride a mount. The Aeronosii chieftain stared down at Caros, his face unreadable. He lifted a gloved hand and pointed it at Caros. “You fought well Bastetani. Too well.” His voice was grim as he surveyed the carnage. The Libyans that had survived the hail of javelins and the initial charge had cut down tens of the Aeronosii warriors. Easily a score or more lay dead while others had already been dragged away by their kin. Their cries of pain drifted over the carnage.
“Surrender now and you will be sent back to your General. A new treaty in place. 6 talents of silver and we will not side with his enemy.”
Caros sneered. “I killed your son. How long will this new treaty stand? A day? Half a day? Your word has no meaning to me. You have no honor!”
“No!” Gualbes roared. “I have eyes and ears. My people watch the smoke-filled southern skies. We see the people streaming north. Always north. Why is that Bastetani?” He flicked his mount forward and fixed a penetrating look on Caros. “Because Hannibal comes from the south, taking and burning. Today he offers us two talents of silver. Tomorrow he will take four talents and all our young men.” The chieftain took a breath and collected himself. He ran his gaze across the remaining Libyans. “Will you surrender?”
Without warning, blood ran from the captain’s mouth and his sword clattered to the ground. Caros hissed and caught his swaying body to lower him to the ground. Misunderstanding, the remaining Libyans muttered curses and threw down their swords, thinking their captain was surrendering. In the time it takes to draw a breath, the Aeronosii leaped on Caros, battering him into the gore-soaked ground.
Caros, wrists bound and throbbing, lurched through the gates of Olot. Around his neck was fastened a coarse rope of the type used on oxen. Thick, heavy coils that weighed on his shoulders and chafed his skin raw. Behind Caros came the surviving Libyans, each similarly bound and roped together. Their weapons and armour stripped from them, they staggered barefoot and bloodied into the settlement. Aeronosii lined the way and pelted the prisoners with stones and clods of cow shit. Caros strained to see Laia amongst the crowd, hoping not to. If he knew her as he thought he did, she would not be here to further dishonour men already tricked and beaten. This was the sport of the rabble, of the poor and addled. Those that endured it all their lives and now for a small moment could inflict suffering on those weaker than themselves.
They passed the common and were shoved and pushed down a steeply sloping street. As they slipped and staggered in the dubious slime on the ground, the reek of animals and leather, piss and blood, grew stronger. In the gloom of dusk, the last of the light reflected off clouds of stinking vapours rising from the mounds of effluent and waste washed into this lower part of the settlement. There before them was their captivity, stock pens built to house cattle and sheep before slaughter. A fire burned in a brazier and two sentries warmed themselves beside it. They cursed and spat at the prisoners, untied the sturdy gate of the animal pen and dragged it open. Caros looked at the barn and then at the open, dung encrusted pen. One of the sentries spat and jabbed a spear impatiently at him. The meaning was clear enough and Caros took a breath and entered. At once, a cloud of flies rose from the filth at his feet. The hard-baked crust on the surface cracked and the slime beneath rose above his ankles. The stench sharpened, so acrid it brought tears to his eyes and caused him to gasp. He cast around desperately and noticed the pen was walled on one side. He slipped and lurched toward it through the muck, the Libyans filing in behind him followed. A figure detached itself from the wall as Caros approached.
“I heard the fighting from here. How many of my men are left?” Adicran’s voice trembled with rage.
“Twenty-three men standing. Those that could not stand…” He shrugged his shoulders.
“My captain?” Adicran’s voice cracked.
“Dead. He fell at the end. A good death. Better than this.” Caros voice was clipped with anger, thirst and pain.
“He was my brother’s son. It is fortunate he has two boys back home to carry on his name and our blood.”
It appeared as if the prisoners were to be left the night to fend for themselves. Bound and tied as they were, there was little they could do. The men all made for the low wall and hunched down against it. Adicran could not remove their bonds for his own wrists were tied behind his back.
“What has Gualbes told you? Did he speak of a new treaty?”
Adicran spat. “There will be no treaty with him. He has the honor of a snake.”
Caros agreed, but was still puzzled at the day’s events. “I do not understand why he chose to attack us? If he had no intention of honouring the treaty, why not let us go on thinking the treaty was in place?”
Adicran shook his head. “Who knows his mind? Maybe he thinks the issue of the blood-debt will muddy the water enough to leave Hannibal in doubt?”
Caros sighed and tried to adjust his position against the wall without sinking too deep into the shit and muck pooling around his feet. He heard giggles, which he mistook at first for weeping. He looked down the line of captive Libyans who leaned dejected and beaten against the wall. The sounds came again and Caros recognised them for what they were, the sounds of children laughing. He tilted his head back and something foul landed on his cheek and slopped down his neck. “Hey! Piss off!” He surged angrily to his feet, yelling at the youngster who had thrown the muck from the top of the wall. The culprit gauffed and dropped out of sight to hysterical laughter from his companions. The smell was putrid and Caros realized he had been pelted with a rotten egg. The sentries rose from beside their fire and shook the gates, shouting for quiet. Caros slumped back down, reeking and Adicran snorted at the smell. “First bat shit, then sheep shit and now rotten eggs. The gods are not pleased with you are they!”
Caros felt a cold shiver and his mind brought to life the image of the priestess he had slain. Was she even now wreaking her revenge on him? He bent his chin to his chest and prayed to Endovex to deliver him. In that position he slumbered only to awaken stiff, his legs numb with the cold and cramp. Snores rose from around him and he noticed some of the Libyans had succumbed to their exhaustion and were slumped in the filth. He had been dreaming of his father and the peaceful life on their land in the valleys of the Bastetani. His father had been a warrior before turning to trade and becoming wealthy. Caros smiled at the memories the dream had evoked and he reflected that he had had a good life. It had all unraveled as violence of a new kind had washed over the land. His mood changed, darkening with anger. He pulled and twisted his lifeless hands, firmly held in their bonds and cursed between his teeth. Adicran stirred and lifted his head briefly before closing his eyes again. A sound caught Caros’ attention and he halted his futile struggles, cocking his head. He took a breath ready to hurl insults again at the youths he could hear scrambling on the wall. He stood, hips burning and knees throbbing. A face appeared over the wall, just a milky oval patch against the dark. Caros was about to give vent to his anger when the figure held a hand down to him. In his fist, Caros saw the gleam of a blade and his eyes snapped up to the child’s face.
“Lanca?” He whispered.
The little head bobbed. “Take the knife.” The boy’s voice shook.
Caros’ arms were bound uselessly at his back. He stared up at the boy. “My hands are tied.”
The boy withdrew his arm and a moment later swung his bare leg up onto the wall. Caros divined the child’s intentions and his heart lurched with fear for the child’s life. He would be killed if he was caught and, on the wall, he would be visible to the guards at the fire.
“No! Leave, it is too dangerous.”
The boy laid his cheek on top of the wall,
studying Caros, with wide eyes.
Caros hardened himself to scare away the lad and then he chided himself for being a fool. “Pass me the knife. I will take it between my teeth. Quickly and then you go to Laia.”
The boy stretched his arm out again and his pudgy fist gently put the handle of the knife between Caros’ teeth. Caros bit down hard on the bone and leather grip, tasting sweat and blood. He grunted and the boy smiled cautiously before slipping away. The voice beside him startled him so badly he nearly spat the knife out.
“By the gods! That was good thinking.” Adicran whispered into Caros’ ear.
“Ummgh!” Caros cursed.
“Here, place it in my hands and then turn and severe the bonds while I hold it.” Adicran turned his back to him and Caros bent and lowered his mouth into Adicran’s outstretched fingers.
The two men heard a sentry rise and throw a bone over the walls of the pen, aiming at the captives. It thudded into a slumped form and the sleeping captive awoke with a yelp. The sentries laughed and for a while, they entertained themselves with bombarding the captives with every item of rubbish they could find. Caros cursed and turned, his hands groping blindly for the blade now held in Adicran’s grip.
“Easy, easy! My cursed hands are numb. I can barely hold the thing.” Adicran muttered in frustration. Caros slowed his movements, located the blade and then sawed his bonds against it. The edge was keen and Caros felt the rope parting, but already his shoulders ached from the unfamiliar movements. He clenched his teeth and used the rustling among the captives to disguise his own. The sentries tired of their game and returned to the fireside. Caros pulled on the bindings with all his strength, muscles coiled and bulging along his arms and wide shoulders. The rope gave and parted a little. Sawing again, he felt the rope slip down his left hand and with a jerk, his hands were free. He turned to Adicran and snatched the blade. In moments, he had hacked through the Libyan’s bindings. They quickly sliced away the rope around Caros’ neck. Adicran worked the bindings of the men free with his fingers while Caros cut away those of others and as each man was unbound, he in turn freed another. In no time, the Libyans were free of their bonds and began to gather around Caros and Adicran.
Maharra Page 9