Maharra

by J Glenn Bauer

  “The words are already there. Open the passage with her blood to hear them and from this night forth dance your own life steps.”

  He pulled his long knife from his belt and without hesitation, drew it across the mare’s throat. Muscles bunched, his stroke swift, sure and deep. From his chest down, a blanket of warmth covered him as the mare spilled her blood to open the passage to his ancestors and riding that flood came the oracle’s words.

  Chapter 16

  All was sound. The sound of men and beasts, fighting, killing and dying. The bone-jarring thud of blade on leather and rock on shield. The call of familiar war horns and screech of enemy trumpets. Loudest by far was the strike of the war machines. Each time one fired, the wooden braces released with the thud of a hundred drums. The vision of battle resolved into the swirl of shadows dancing across the face of a large fire. Caros lay on his back, his cloak across his chest and his horse blankets under his head. He turned and vomited thick, sour bile from his mouth and he shuddered and spat after it. A child passed him a cup and then darted away. He sniffed the contents and scenting only sweet water, drank thirstily, emptying the cup in one long pull. He tossed it into the dark and lay back. Words were lodged in his mind and unthinking he spoke them softly and his hair stood on end. These were the words of the Oracle! He sat up frantically trying to recall them, but he could scarce remember one. The harder he tried, the less he could remember. They were like a vivid dream, which bleaches and blows away from the prying fingers of your mind like dust, upon waking. Panicked, he stood and found that he was naked, his skin covered only by painted symbols.

  Hanna’s figure resolved itself in his vision, still clouded from the effects of the potion he had drunk. She placed her hands on his bare shoulders and smiled kindly at him. “The words are within you now. Do you remember them?”

  “I saw visions as clear as any memory and I remember knowing the words, but now…” He shrugged.

  She smiled wider. “Never fear. As I said, they are part of you now. Few recall the oracles once they are awake.” She took his hand and led him to a wagon with a hide cover tented over its high wooden walls. “Your clothes are inside. There is a cot for you to use, you will sleep well.” She stepped back.

  “Then what use are they? The oracles, what use are the words or visions if I cannot think on them?” His voice broke.

  She raised his hand to her lips and then placed it on her chest. Beneath the leather, her was skin was warm to his touch. “When they are needed, they will come to you. Your path stretches before you and after this night you will see more clearly the things you must do.”

  He smiled crookedly. “More words for me to forget? It seems I rarely have a say where this path I tread leads.” He traced his hand across her body and under her chin, tilting her face slightly. Caros looked at her tall figure, backlit by the flames beyond and his body responded. She was a beautiful woman. Perhaps the potion removed his reserve because he pulled her to him and their lips met, her mouth working as hungrily as his. His fingers teased her hair and then his hands moved down her back and found her hips. He nuzzled her throat and licked at the sweet taste of her skin, his breathing labored. She moaned and her breasts beneath her tunic flattened against his broad chest, hard nubs evidence of her arousal. He lifted her into the wagon and leaped up after her. Urgently his fingers loosened the ties that held her tunic closed and then his hands were on her smooth flesh, her nipples growing as he worked them. Groaning, she slipped her tunic off, letting it fall at her ankles and then taking him in hand, pulled him onto the cot of skins and straw. “You will remember the words, just as you remember a woman’s body.” She dug her fingers into his back and raked them down his flanks, lifting a leg and wrapping it around his thighs.

  It had been a long time since he had enjoyed the embrace of a woman and his thrusts grew deeper and faster as he lost himself in the pleasure and all too soon, a surging wave overwhelmed him. Panting, they held one another close and in time, he was ready to take her and she him and that way they used up the night. The campfires had died away and from beyond the wagon, they heard lovemaking, snoring and dogs fighting for scraps.

  By sunrise, Caros had slept little, but sensed a freedom he had not known had been missing. He felt as though he was once again directing his life. Could this be the working of the oracle? He smiled and decided he did not care. For all he knew it could be the lasting effects of the potion or a night in the arms of Hanna. He rolled onto an elbow and gazed at her serene beauty. Wanting to see her eyes as she awoke, he blew gently on her eyelids and she woke with a soft smile. “Caros.”

  “Hanna. Thank you for your gift.”

  “Oh Caros. Which?”

  He laughed quietly. “You know which. I feel as though I have found some meaning, some purpose. Is this how the oracles work?”

  She ran a finger down his bearded cheek and across his chest, tracing the raised scars beneath her fingertips. “I sensed your strength when I first saw you among your companions, those strange horsemen. Powerful as an ox, yet with no cart to drag...”

  He laughed quietly. “You have a way with words. Yet, that is exactly it. Since the death of my family and the woman I loved, I feel I have lived within the shell of my body and not looked at the world for what it is.”

  “There are great things to be done, but…” Her voice trailed away.

  “I sense it also. There is a great threat looming and much danger ahead. Those Romans were the first of many we will confront. I cannot turn away from that threat so I will fight this war of the Barca General.”

  “It is as I had foreseen. Be mindful of the oracles for they will return to you. Do not ignore them Caros.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears.

  He kissed her tenderly on each. “I shall not. Now do tell, how is it you make the cicadas sing so loud?

  She giggled. “I shall, but first I would have you make my body sing once again.”

  The people of the Clans of Shade went about their camp, unmindful of the farewell. Aksel waited at the trail as Caros said his goodbye. “Keep well. If ever you have need, seek out my friend in Tagilit. He is named Neugen.”

  She smiled in return, threw her arms about his neck and whispered a soft farewell. Aksel smiled strangely at Caros and held his tongue. The two men found Jinkata waiting for them where the people of the clans had found them the day before. Jinkata looked somewhat shamefaced at having fled the valley with the other riders and inclined his head. Aksel laughed at him and told him there was no shame in fleeing from witches. Regaining some of his spirit, the Masulian Captain gave a small smile.

  “We have found a fresh trail left by Gualbes. He and his men have fallen on two villages in as many days. They leave a trail of bodies in their wake that a blind man could scent.”

  Aksel looked at Caros. “He is baiting us I think.”

  “Have the scouts encountered his column? Do they know his numbers?”

  “No more than he had before, maybe less. I think about forty or so riders.”

  Caros was as baffled as Aksel by Gualbes violence. The reason rapidly became clear the following day as the column crossed a line of low hills.

  An arrow thumped into a Masulian rider, the impact like a hammer blow, lifting trail dust from the man’s tunic. He froze for a heartbeat before turning to look at his companion, eyes wide. He opened his mouth and issued a silent cry before toppling from his mount. Then all was shouting men and whinnying horses. More arrows flew from the rocks above the column and riders bolted or cursed as their mounts screamed and stumbled. Caros snarled as he made out the attackers cowering in the rocks above them. They were no army, just bandits. He screamed his war cry and hurled a javelin and another. The first sailed harmlessly over the heads of the attackers; the second struck the rocks with a shower of sparks and spun away. Then the rear of the column came galloping up and in a moment, forty javelins were speeding towards the line of archers. With arrows were no longer falling on the Masulians; they charged their ho
rses up and over the hill in a broad line. A man sprang at Caros, thrusting a heavy boar spear at his gut. Without blinking, Caros sent a javelin through the man’s eye. The fools broke and ran then, down the back of the hill, dropping their bows and spears and kicking off their sandals so they could run all the faster. Javelins flew and in moments, their numbers were cut down to less than half and the Masulians followed. Caros halted his stallion and looked around, catching sight of a white-faced youth sheltering under the lip of a rock. In his hands, he held a sickle. It dawned on Caros that these men were farmers rather than bandits. Simple villagers. He pulled his warhorn from his back, and blew the recall. The Masulians paused, slowed and halted, strung out on the hillside. Barely a handful of men were still afoot and running. Aksel cantered along the ridge surveying the scene and then guided his horse through the rocks and came to a stop beside Caros, breathing heavily, eyes charged with battle rage.

  “I know what Gualbes is doing!” Caros spat angrily and slid off his mount. He threw aside the javelin he still held and dropped his shield. With his arms out and palms up, he eyed the youth who had escaped the bloodletting. “Boy! Why did your people attack us?”

  The youth shook and lifted the sickle as though that would hide him.

  “Look son, we are not here to murder farmers and villagers. Your lot just did not give us any choice. Have your people been attacked recently? Just answer us and we will be on our way.”

  The youth nodded once. Caros gritted his teeth and crouched down to the same level as the youth. “How many was it that attacked?” The youth threw the sickle at Caros and darted from under the overhang to sprint away down the hill. He fled past surprised Masulians who shouted and then converged on him. Aksel and Jinkata bellowed he was not to be harmed and the youth’s gods were kind to him for the Masulians heard and lowered their javelins.

  “Look at him run, he’s as fast as a hare with a lynx on his tail.” Caros shook his head.

  Aksel was tight-lipped with fury. Four riders were dead and seven others were wounded or injured by arrows or falls. “These cursed farmers shoot well. Who was scouting that ridge?” His voice was icy as he turned on Jinkata who grimaced and pointed. “Awzal and his son. We found their bodies down there, horses as well.”

  The farmers had chosen their ambush point well, a testament to having lived and fought for generations in these hills. While the men treated the injured riders and mounts, Caros and Aksel took ten men and tracked the fleeing farmers. They went cautiously, fearful of another deadly volley of arrows. A Masulian on the right flank whistled softly and pointed off to the right. Caros searched and then saw the furtive ducking of heads behind a dense mess of boulders and bush. “Hold here.” Alone, he rode in that direction and again held his weaponless hands out at his sides. “We are not here to make war on your people!” He guided the stallion forward with his knees. “We are hunting the very men who have attacked you!” He began to sweat and slowed the stallion. Metal clinked against stone and a voice hissed for quiet.

  “My name is Caros of the Bastetani. My fellow warriors and I hunt a man by the name of Gualbes. He rides with two score riders. They have attacked other villages and will keep doing so. Our fight is with him, not yourselves.”

  A warrior stepped from behind a large rock a mere javelin throw from Caros. He walked forward some steps and paused, glaring about. His iron helmet was utilitarian, his iron scaled vest old, scales missing in more than a few places. The warrior hawked and spat into the grass. He planted the butt of his spear in the ground and rested the shaft casually in the crook of his shoulder with long familiarity. Caros noticed the disfigured left hand, the white scarring on the man’s face and the missing eye. He inclined his head in respect.

  “You are a long way from home Caros of the Bastetani! You fight under the Barca banner?”

  “The Bastetani are allies to the Barcas yes. It is a rewarding alliance.”

  “Maybe for you, but it has brought us to this grief!” His voice was hoarse with anger.

  “This man we pursue, he is a traitor, a murderer and would bring the iron legionaries of Rome to our shores. All we ask is that you allow us to pass without shooting us full of your cursed arrows.”

  “We don’t care a jot for Rome. Nor do we care for your master. Our homes are burned and women and children slain.”

  “I can’t bring your dead back from beyond the lands of Saur. I can slay those that did this evil though. Send word to your people of our coming. We will not harass a single innocent.”

  “What? Are we now not men enough to kill our own enemies? Do not belittle us. You may kill me, but behind me is every man and women of our people and each of them will sell their lives dearly at every hilltop and at every ford.”

  Caros had expected this response and played his hand. “That may be so and behind us is an army of one hundred thousand. Fight us and you fight them. Or allow us to gift you a mount of your own and ride with us to kill our common enemy.”

  The man stared in silence and then turned his back on Caros. Cursing the man’s pride, Caros was about to withdraw when the scarred warrior turned. “I am Odlussus. I may be many things, but few would call me a fool. If you allow me to ride beside you to avenge our murdered, you have my word my fellows will no longer hunt you.”

  He was neither a chieftain nor a rich man, but he had been a renowned warrior. When he talked of it, he grimaced and sighed. “I have had gold and silver enough to make myself rich ten times over, but somehow never for long.” He snorted and pointed around at the Masulians. “Funny looking lot, where do you say they come from?” Aksel cocked an eyebrow at Odlussus while Caros hid a smile at the man’s easy manner.

  “Africa. The Kingdom of the Massylii.”

  “Are you sure this pony will carry me?” He looked at the stallion Caros was grooming. “That is more my size.”

  “They are stronger than they look. Which is your favoured weapon?” Caros hefted a quiver of javelins in one hand and a straight sword in another for Odlussus carried only a hunting spear of dubious quality, the shaft appeared bowed and the pitted spearhead looked ready to fold in half. As he had expected, Odlussus reached for the sword with a grin.

  “I’ll use this if it’s all the same to you.” He drew the well-oiled blade and swung it about dangerously, the blade hissing through the air. Caros stepped back warily. It took skill to make a blade sing so. Odlussus, aware of Caros’ surprise, threw the sword high and caught it easily with his mangled left hand as it fell.

  “Your arm still has strength. Don’t tell me you can still see with your missing eye as well?” Caros laughed.

  Odlussus stopped abruptly and glared at Caros for a moment before placing his hand over his right eye briefly. “No, still nothing.” He laughed as he removed his hand.

  Caros liked the man’s bluster. He had seen the few villagers hiding in the rocks leave when Odlussus had made their peace and thought the man must have a silver tongue to get them to stand firm at all.

  At sunset, they buried the dead, laying them in a crypt of rock they had fashioned from large stones laid in a rough rectangle. They packed the bodies tight with loose rocks until a mound of stones marked their grave. Odlussus led them through the dark to the settlement of Gauls. They camped a stade beyond it, ate cold rations and drank wine that tasted more like vinegar. Around the campfire, Odlussus told them of the sudden attack by the armoured riders just two days earlier. The numbers of riders and the presence of the five white mounts confirmed it was Gualbes and his men along with the Romans.

  The old Gaul returned to his hearth in the settlement to sleep while they rolled up in their cloaks beside their fires. A mist was just unraveling in the cool morning air and the sun had yet to rise when Odlussus woke Caros by dragging off his cloak.

  “Wake up sunshine. It is time to go hunting.” He gave Caros a wide grin. The camp roused and grumbling in the cold pre-dawn gloom, made ready to ride. Aksel was quiet and as they rode north and Caros took him aside
.

  “What ails, do you not trust this Gaul? Something haunts your mind so unburden it.”

  Aksel frowned over his shoulder at the column. “How far are we going after Gualbes? Everyday we get closer to Massalia and the enemy. The men are hungry for rest and good food, the horses are tired and in need of good grazing.” He shrugged.

  Caros chided himself for not paying attention to these things himself and he looked back at the column to see many heads slumped on chests. Their usual vigour drained along with their carefree attitude to life. “I should have noticed. It has been a long, swift ride and yet we are closing on Gualbes. Let us press on another day and then if we are no closer, we make a decision.”