Maharra

by J Glenn Bauer

  Oriol swung from his horse and bade the others do the same. A servant materialised from behind them and took their mounts.

  “They came as we expected.” Oriol offered no introductions as he strode forward and turned to stand beside Jornican.

  “Hello Laia. You have had a hard journey.” The chieftain offered no smile.

  For her part, Laia was subdued. “Greetings, Jornican. No doubt your spies have told you what has happened.”

  The chieftain ignored the comment and looked instead at Castrodubis, who inclined his head respectfully. “You are well Castrodubis. That is good. How fares our friend?”

  Castrodubis shrugged emphatically. “Gualbes straddles the Aeronosii like a yoke on an unwilling beast.”

  The corners of Jornican’s eyes loosened, the only sign of mirth. “Who is your companion?”

  Caros stepped forward and Oriol’s stance changed in a heartbeat. Caros smiled pleasantly and dipped his chin. “Caros of the Bastetani. I offer my greetings.”

  Jornican rubbed his chin. “You are a long way from home, Caros of the Bastetani. No doubt you ride for the Barca.”

  Caros detected the antagonism in the man’s voice. How had Laia and Castrodubis thought he might persuade the man to stand toe to toe against Gualbes?

  “My allegiance is first and foremost to my people. If our alliance with the Barcas brings the people gain, then all to the good.”

  “And you thought an alliance, a treaty, with Gualbes could benefit you?”

  “It would have been beneficial for all. However, Gualbes seems to have had a change of heart.” Caros’ pulse quickened. It seemed that Jornican felt slighted that they had attempted to treat with Aeronosii. Then it dawned on him. It was because they had treated with Aeronosii first. Mind spinning, he sought to right this. “It is as we expected. Gualbes is not fit to make a treaty. What we did not foresee was the extent of his treachery.” Caros lied blithely. He sensed the hesitation now in Jornican and struck. “This all the more so as Gualbes has divested us of the silver that rightfully should belong to you.” Sweat began beading at his hairline, held back only by the leather braid wrapped around his head. Jornican’s eye flicked towards Oriol and Caros clenched his fist. The chieftain had meant to make him sweat out an apology for negotiating with Gualbes first.

  Jornican called over his shoulder and a second servant ran across from a large cooking pit. “Show the men to the spring.” To Caros and Castrodubis. “You will no doubt wish to clean.” He smiled for the first time and spoke to Laia. “You must forgive me. This is a warriors’ camp. We have no provisions for women. I will have a servant show you where you can bathe in privacy. Afterwards, we can eat and drink together. It seems we have much to discuss.”

  The servant took his and Castrodubis’ foul smelling clothing as they stripped the garments off and assured them he would have them cleaned in no time. Castrodubis simply growled. “Good. I will have yours if they are not clean by the time I am.” The servant meekly trotted off, holding the clothes at arm’s length.

  Caros released a bark of laughter and fell backwards into the pool of green water. It was frigid, newly run from the highest mountains. Regaining his breath, he laughed again. “I would sincerely like to see you trying to fit into his clothing.”

  Castrodubis waded cautiously into the pool until the water was up to his knees. Flicking water over his stomach and groin, he smiled. “I’d sincerely like to see him get your clothes cleaned.” They both laughed.

  “Poor bastard. Did you see how he held them?” They laughed harder. Caros ducked under the water and rubbed hard at his body. He grabbed up a handful of coarse sand off the bed of the pool and surfaced. Scrubbing his skin thoroughly with the grit, he noticed Castrodubis still standing as he had been.

  “You do not swim?”

  “Gods no!”

  Caros laughed. “Choose not to or cannot?”

  Castrodubis shook his head. “People shit and piss in streams.”

  Caros finished scrubbing and left the water. As he passed Castrodubis, he launched a wave of icy water across the man’s torso.

  “Son of a…”

  Laughing, Caros ducked a swinging fist and jogged over to a flat rock warmed by the sun. He lay, soaking the heat into his skin until the shivers subsided. Castrodubis sat nearby idly tossing pebbles into the pond.

  “Jornican’s army is assembled.” Caros stated.

  Castrodubis launched another pebble. “He is ready for battle yes.”

  “Against whom I wonder.”

  “You know already Bastetani. I can practically hear your mind working, has been since Gualbes accepted two lousy talents for a treaty.”

  He had guessed, but now he knew. Jornican and Gualbes were to aid one another against Hannibal. That is until Castrodubis and Laia hatched their own plot. Now the lynx was amongst the sheep and all the while the wolf was stalking closer.

  The servant delivered garments gathered from reluctant warriors, no doubt on Jornican’s orders. Cleaned and smelling only faintly of mud, Caros sat with the others. They drank weak ale and sniffed hungrily at the aroma of a roasting bullock.

  “Your warriors are ready for battle?” Caros started.

  “As they will ever be.” Jornican responded shortly.

  Caros sipped at the ale. He had observed the Andosinni’s weapons, armour and importantly their body language. They appeared strong and their morale was high. Even now, they beat on drums and danced around their fires. Their laughter and yells filled the cold night. Their weapons and armour were aged though. Many carried the maharra as their primary weapon, useful enough, but less so in close quarter battle. Few sported the falcatas preferred by most veterans. Instead, they carried a motley collection of long blades as favoured by the Celts from the north or short blades, barely longer than darts. Their many-times-mended armour needed replacing. Here was Jornican’s weakness. Isolated and under constant attack from the Volcae people in the north, the Andosinni were merely subsisting.

  “The Barcas have no quarrel with the Andosinni. Gualbes murdered their envoy before he could reach you. The silver earmarked for your coffers now sits in Olot. Six talents.” Caros let the implications hang.

  Oriol’s eyes flashed towards Castrodubis while Jornican prodded the fire with a stick, sending showers of the sparks streaming heavenward. The silence grew and Caros was content to let it. His look cautioned Castrodubis and Laia to remain silent.

  Oriol broke the silence. His voice strained with suppressed anger. “Gualbes has deceived us. We cannot honour the treaty we have with him.”

  “You think I don’t know this!” Jornican exploded, hurling the stick into the fire. He shrunk into himself and Caros knew the chieftain was at a crossroads, one that could decide the fate of the Andosinni forever.

  “Four hundred of the best horsemen in these mountains will ride with you to retrieve Andosinni honour.” Caros spoke quietly and firmly. “Claim the silver and secure your future. You have my word that Hannibal will shower the Andosinni with favour.”

  Jornican lifted his head and stared through the smoke at Caros. His stare grew sharp and the creases in his brow deepened. “With the aid your horsemen, we can do this.” He looked at Castrodubis and a thin smile grew on his lips. “Castrodubis, will your supporters fight for you?”

  “They will and together we will defeat Gualbes.”

  “Very well, we the Andosinni, will fight beside you. Rally your kin and friends. Send them the message upon the lips of my riders who leave at sunrise. Tell them we will be at Olot in three days.”

  Caros caught Laia’s eyes. They sparkled with unspent tears. There would be war and Castrodubis would be in the thick of it.

  Chapter 11

  In the high mountains, the mouflon rams were unsettled, their nostrils working every swirling breeze for the scent of the ewes. They hopped from rock to path, pausing to nibble on new growth, before scenting the air again. The ewes were near and the rams began to strut. They glar
ed at one another and tipped their horns in threat. When the posturing was done and neither had backed down, they fought.

  Caros woke with his leg burning and a swelling in his groin. He knew at once that the wound delivered by the priestess had become corrupted. His heart raced with fear at her curse and he called to Endovex to spare him. From the darkness issued the sounds of hundreds of sleeping warriors, all dreaming of the coming battle against the Aeronosii. Caros limped to the smouldering fire and tossed on more brushwood. In the rekindled firelight, he undressed the wound, the lips of which were peeled back while the gouge itself ran thick with yellow puss. It did not stink like the black rot curse, but that could change if he did not clean it. He dabbed ineffectively at the wound with the old dressing, merely smearing the puss. He noticed Castrodubis awake and watching him.

  The big warrior grunted. “Stop mincing with it and clean it properly.”

  Laia sat up alongside Castrodubis, irritating Caros who snapped. “I’ve dealt with worse.” He rubbed harder at the wound and had to grit his teeth at the lance of pain. Laia sighed and rose, her hair wild and her clothing disheveled. Caros lay prone on elbow and hip so he could better reach the wound at the back of his leg. He stared at Laia as she studied the wound and then prodded the bruised and swollen edges. He gulped at the pain; her fingers like hot knives slicing him. He had thought somehow with her beauty she would touch him and the pain would melt away. Laia stood back, wiping her fingers on her tunic. Aksel appeared from out of the night and in his hand, he held a waterskin.

  He gave Caros a wide grin. “Sour wine. If I were you, I would bite on something.”

  Eyes widening in understanding, Caros grabbed his scabbard and bit down hard as Aksel tipped the mouth of the waterskin over the old binding, thoroughly saturating it. He then rubbed the vinegar-soaked rag over the wound, sloughing away puss, scab and blood. He irrigated the wound thoroughly, if not gently and Caros groaned around the scabbard and beat the ground with his fist.

  “I wouldn’t bother binding it again. It’ll just be harder to clean which you must do daily with sour wine.”

  The rest of the party had grown bored and were readying for the day ahead. Around him, the plateau was alive with warriors scrambling to prepare for war. The central point was at a large oak tree from where Jornican issued orders. Caros limped over and greeted Jornican and Castrodubis. The decision to go to war against Gualbes appeared to have invigorated the Andosinni chieftain.

  “Caros! How is the wound, I trust you are well enough to fight alongside us?”

  Castrodubis must have mentioned his injury to Jornican and Caros gave the Aeronosii a filthy look. “Fine. Nothing a little sour wine can’t deal with apparently.” Caros shrugged off his injury. “I see your warriors are already marching.”

  “By the will of Runeovex, I intend to be at Olot within three days as I promised.”

  “Right and I will use the Masulians to draw the enemy horsemen away from Olot.” Caros looked at Castrodubis who smiled.

  “Do not fear Bastetani. I will keep my part of the bargain. I will raise the Aeronosii loyal to me and join you at Olot.”

  Laia was already atop a mount and Lanca proudly sat his own mount beside her. They were leaving to stay with Jornican’s clan in Massana. A small escort of horsemen waited as she bade farewell to the men. As she did so, Caros caught Lanca’s hand in his and playfully tussled the boy’s hair.

  “Listen well to your father boy and you will grow up true and with purpose. Listen to your mother and you will grow up straight and tall.” Caros grinned at Lanca’s puzzled expression. “Yup, something my father told me. Think on it.” With more regret than he had foreseen, he turned from the boy and gave a brief wave to Laia, whose eyes lingered on his face for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

  He leaped onto the mare and raced across the plateau, making for the column of waiting Masulians. Jornican had provided him with a leather tunic and a heavy straight sword to replace the equipment he had lost to the Aeronosii. He wore neither helmet nor boots. No javelins were slung beside his saddlecloth. He had never felt so unprepared for battle. He leaped onto the mare and raced across the plateau, making for the column of waiting Masulians. Riding hard throughout the day, they cut south, using the ancient north-south road used by travelers since time immemorial. This land had seen many strangers, yet their column of horsemen were perhaps the strangest that had passed along these roads in all that time. Aksel took a deep breath of high mountain air and gazed with curious eyes at the hills alive with the new spring. Flowers swayed in the gentle mountain breeze and thick forest covered much of the mountains. The scent of pine and foliage hung thick in the air.

  “This is good land. I never knew a countryside so thickly wooded nor so green.”

  “You do not have such mountains in Numidia?”

  “To the far west there are mountains, but these are parched. In my land, you can stand with one foot in a flowing river and the other in dry sand. Away from the few rivers, the land is barren. Endless rocky plains surrounded by mountains of sand that move with the wind. Still it is beautiful. Perhaps because of its simplicity.”

  It sounded bloody awful to Caros. He kept the thought to himself, content instead to sit his mount and enjoy the warm sun and the peaceful sounds of the woods. Soon enough, he knew, they would be in battle and even with the four hundred Masulians, Gualbes would be hard to defeat. He hoped Castrodubis had as much support as he claimed for that might be the key difference between victory and defeat.

  By nightfall, they were nearing the hills that bracketed the valley over which Olot stood sentry and so decided to make camp.

  Aksel took Caros down the line of Masulian campfires. The Masulians lived with their horses on hand at every moment. Never did a Masulian horse feel the cinch of rope or halter. It willingly followed its rider everywhere, cropping the grass in circles around the night’s campfires and providing the Masulians with early warning of danger. At a particular fire, a kin group of four men rose from their haunches and greeted Aksel and Caros warmly. Sitting with them, they were offered hunks of meat greasy with fat. “We killed one today. They are wily, alert creatures but we have learned to hunt them with a bow.” The speaker produced a pair of horns the length of a man’s forearm and hooked back sharply near the tips. A second chimed in. “And they make good eating!”

  Laughing, the men all helped themselves to more of the meat roasting above the fire. After they had eaten and when it was suitably polite to broach the subject, Aksel mentioned the men’s father. He had died two nights previously, bitten by an adder while scouting. Amongst his possessions he also owned three Iberian mounts taken from the Aeronosii in the battles of the past days. Aksel passed a small purse to the oldest brother who silently took it and tucked it away in a fold in his tunic. The youngest man rose and untethered the Iberian mounts and drew them closer to the firelight. Aksel turned to Caros. “You need a second horse. Select the one you prefer.”

  The largest of the three was a powerful looking stallion and after examining the three horses, Caros grinned at Aksel and gestured to the stallion.

  By the following day, Caros had a second horse and a plain iron helmet, also liberated from its Aeronosii owner. A quiver of the deadly Masulian javelins hung at his knee and he was optimistic about the imminent conflict. They cantered in silence just to the rear of the crest of a hill. At this point, they could see the Aeronosii riders had already observed their movements and were keeping pace on the valley floor adjacent to their position. Aksel drew to a halt and the column slowed and stopped. The ever-present dust settled slowly on their shoulders.

  “There are many more than there were when we left the valley.” He stated dryly.

  Caros watched the Aeronosii column circling on the valley floor. While they could not see the Masulians, they could read their movements by the telltale dust that hung above them.

  “Three, maybe four times our number. Looks like they have noticed we have stopped.”


  “We can’t risk going much further. They might realize we are purposely leading them away from Olot.” Aksel observed.

  Caros was surprised they had managed to lure the Aeronosii horsemen as far from Olot as they had. They had sighted the Aeronosii column mid-morning and while staying among the hills, they had made sure the Aeronosii quickly became aware of their presence. For once, the dust had worked in their favour. Since then, the Masulians had been drawing the enemy further and further from Olot.

  “Jornican’s warriors should be in the valley now. If the Aeronosii decide to return to Olot they will do so soon.” Caros gestured to the sun hanging low in the west. “I’m not sure if this lot will remain or return to Olot.”

  Aksel’s face grew tense. “If they return to Olot now, Jornican and his warriors will be easy targets.”

  “We can’t allow that. His warriors are few enough.” Caros hawked and spat. It was becoming warmer each day as spring progressed. “Time to change tactics my friend.”

  Aksel smiled coldly. “Our men will welcome it. We should strike now before they turn back.” Without waiting for an answer, he signaled to Jinkata. That grim Masulian’s eyes narrowed and he sounded a whistling note. Caros had never had the opportunity to ride with the Masulians in battle although he had seen them at work on the Tagus, slaying Carpetani and Olcades warriors in the hundreds. Nervously he grabbed a clutch of light javelins from the quiver at his knee and slid his shield onto his left arm. The Masulian column broke into a trot and cut down the back of the hill. Ahead of them, the hill dipped and flattened creating a natural pass that fed out onto the valley floor. Caros urged his mare into a canter, keeping close to Aksel’s right. Behind him, the Masulian warriors began their strange ululations and his skin prickled at the sound. It was menacing, like some horde of daemons as told of by the old storytellers. The column hit the flat ground and turned into the shallow pass. The valley stretched out a hundred strides away and the Aeronosii horsemen were still out of sight. Hares broke and ran before them and a kite lifted off the bough of a long dead tree with a thin cry. Then the Aeronosii appeared, alerted by the Masulian war cries and the sound of their thundering hooves. Aksel leaned low over his mount’s withers and broke into a gallop. Caros followed, heart hammering in rhythm with the mares hoofbeats. He called to Runeovex to give his arm the strength of the god and his mare the speed of lightning.