Maharra

by J Glenn Bauer

  Their answer was a single bellowed order and their javelins rose into the sky. In moments, they rained down around him, the breeze from their flight cooling his brow and he braced for the impact that never came. Then he was past their line and laughing. Aksel, ashen faced, joined him and they cantered back to the remaining Masulians.

  “The gods held their shield over you. Roman javelins fell like rain and none touched you!”

  “In truth, I expected to be struck down any moment!” His blood sang through his veins with battle joy. He had hunted and killed Gualbes, the Roman agents, and had ridden through the storm of Roman spears without a wound. “Now I know how well they throw their javelins, I doubt I will do that again!”

  Aksel shook his head laughing, but his cheeks were stretched. “We have done what we set out to do but at a steep cost.”

  Caros’ laughter drained away as he surveyed the remaining Masulians. They were whooping and laughing, but the string of ponies laden with those killed was too long by far. He counted eleven men dead and three more who were alive, but need to be tied to their horses as their wounds had rendered them unconscious. The dead Aeronosii had been stripped of valuables and Gualbes’ head was raised on a broken spear planted upright in the ground. At the foot of this were a pile of leather packs and yellow gleamed dully from the opening of the topmost pack.

  Aksel slid off the mount and hefted one. “More than six talents here.”

  “Perhaps it includes Rome’s contribution as well. It is a wonder their horses lasted as long as they did.” Caros looked back towards Massalia. The Roman legionaries were on the march. “Time to go. We will need to distribute this lot amongst the riders.”

  “We can tie bags alongside the bodies of our brothers as well.” Aksel shouted his orders.

  With the silver divided into smaller packs and distributed equally amongst the riders, they moved off. Caros was conscious that the large Roman cavalry contingent was still about and so they rode directly for the forested slopes to the west of the valley. Once amongst the relative shelter of the trees, they slowed their pace to conserve their blowing mounts. They dismounted, as the slope grew steeper and walked. They were in no rush and with the sun sinking; they wanted to remain undetected until the light failed.

  Chapter 18

  In silence, the riders had picked their way down through the trees until they reached another gentler slope. They climbed this one as the heat of the day finally began to relent. Bats flittered with tiny piercing cries through the forest and geese flew overhead, honking loudly from their arrowhead formations. When the gloom of dusk beneath the tall trees became too much, Caros called a halt. They had crossed the ridge of the hills that lay to the west of the Rhone and were in comparative safety here.

  They untied and lowered the injured men to the rocky forest floor. Of the three, only one remained alive and even he was close to death. His breathing was a terrible sound and Caros shivered as he listened to the bubbling and sucking as he laboured to breath. In the gloom, the man’s eyes were wide with pain and fear. He knew he was dying and fought for each breath, not willing to relinquish his life. A spear had sliced cleanly between his ribs, but not so deep as to kill outright. The bindings hurriedly tied about his chest on the battlefield were stained red, but it was obvious much more blood was collecting in the man’s lungs, drowning him. He coughed repeatedly, spraying bright foamy blood across his lips and chin. A younger man wiped the blood away and lifted the man’s head onto his lap.

  “His name is Mushyani. He witnessed me kill my first lion. He will die tonight in his son’s arms.” Aksel spoke quietly as he rubbed down one of the horses. The other riders did the same and Caros listened to the quiet steady drone of the men as they spoke to their mounts. He grabbed up another handful of pine needles from the ground and rubbed the stallion’s forelocks and chest, ridding the horse of dried sweat and fly eggs that marked his coat. He blocked the sounds of the dying man and began to chant an old song his father had sung on long rides. It came to him from nowhere and he lost himself in the memories of his boyhood. When he was done rubbing down the horse, he did the same with one of the spare mounts. By the time he had groomed three of the horses, full darkness had settled. The dying man had stopped breathing at some point and now a preternatural quiet descended on the forest. Caros dumped his travel pack and cloak beside a fallen tree. He dug out the food packed within, the last of the cakes of dried meat, nut and rendered fat. They would light no fires here, well aware of the double danger in doing so. Pine trees burnt like oil-soaked rags and if they were caught in such a blaze, they would not escape, especially at night. Furthermore, not only were there Romans about, but Odlussus had conceded that Volcae war parties often crossed the Rhone to prey on travelers along the river. It flowed from far in the north, deep in the lands of the Gaul. In spring, many traders would travel both north and south between the hinterlands and the city port of Massilia at the mouth of the Rhone. The Volcae were treacherous and war-like, preying on these travelers despite the bribes the Greeks paid them.

  Caros swallowed some tepid wine and water mix, feeling it sting his chapped lips and wash away the film of rancid grease coating the back of his throat. Aksel hopped over the downed tree and landed beside Caros, lithe as a lynx. “I’ve set the guards. There are wolves and bears about and who knows what else.”

  “Bears?” Caros looked about in the dark.

  “Sure. I saw their tracks all afternoon.”

  He stuffed something into his mouth and ate. Caros could hear him chewing. “What are the Romans doing in Massalia do you think?”

  “They must know Hannibal is going to attack. They wont make the same mistake they made with Sagunt.” Aksel said.

  “Hannibal will crush them in days. After toppling Sagunt, any city he faces must know that.”

  Aksel grunted. “That was the darkest fighting I have ever done. Women and children throwing themselves from the roofs onto our spears. Every doorway hiding a spear or arrow.” The Masulian’s voice faded with the memories.

  “Hannibal will crush them though.” Caros tried to recall the visions he had received from the Clan of Hanna. He smelled the smoke and heard the battle cries as though he was there. Closing his eyes, he slept.

  The dreams continued and when he awoke, the forest was dark and still, as though it held its breath, waiting on a new morrow. Men lay in indistinct circles, ingrained to sleeping around campfires. He rose and padded silently uphill, stopping only to urinate. Reaching the crest, he looked east, with troubled eyes. He had been certain Hannibal would be victorious, but in the night, his dreams had shown men falling in waves, crushed and hewn. Those men cried out to Tanit, mother goddess of the Carthaginians, as they fell. The sun rose and between the hills, shone the silver thread of the Rhone. The river was important. The thought visited him unannounced and he picked at it like a drying scab, yet still he could not imagine why he felt this. There was no discernable reason the sight of the river should unsettle him so except that it reminded him vaguely of the Tagus and the bloody battle fought there the previous summer. He spat between his feet, remembering those black hours of battle. It was time to join with Hannibal’s army and he did not want to delay a single heartbeat.

  A pair of Masulians sprang off the trail with a laugh to make way for Caros as he sprinted back to their camp. Aksel spun from where he had been looking at the hill of silver-bearing packs.

  “Caros! What have you seen?” He shouted, startled at the Bastetani’s sudden appearance.

  “It is time we rejoined the main army. I expect Hannibal already knows of the Roman presence, but I must be sure.” Caros eyes darted about the clearing. The dead had already been laid to rest beneath piles of stones.

  Aksel’s face creased in concern. “I sent two men to scout the river and they say the Roman cavalry has not yet returned south by that route.”

  Caros gripped the Masulians shoulder. “Then we go carefully, but we need to move fast.” He looked at the bag
s of silver. “We can leave this here.” He kicked at the bags. “Unlike Gualbes, I will not risk my life for silver.”

  “We could bury it.” Aksel chewed his lip.

  “Let’s do it already. Time is closing in on us.” He grabbed a pair of the packs and threw them into a nearby gully. Aksel waved a hand and men came forward to help. They covered the silver with rocks and then for good measure, heaped leaves and boughs over the resultant rock pile.

  “I guess that will have to do…” Aksel cursed as he heard Caros urge his stallion down the hillside, back to the valley floor.

  Near mid-morning they reached the bluff that intruded into the valley, pinching the trail up close beside the wide river. It was here they had left Jinkata with the main column. Neither the column nor the Romans were in evidence. Instead, crows and other carrion birds feasted on the scattered remains of numerous mounts killed in battle.

  “I see many Masulian ponies.” Aksel intoned somberly.

  It was true. “There are many more Roman mounts. I’d say Jinkata had the better of the engagement.” Caros looked with interest across the river. It was wide and the far bank at this point was still partially shaded due the higher hills on the east bank. His eyes were sharp and he had learned to see rather than just look. He worked the land across the river with his keen sight and after several long heartbeats; he spotted what he was looking for. Not easily seen, two mounted men sat deep in the shade of a stand of oak trees. He might have missed them, but for the rock pigeon that had veered suddenly from its intended perch. These must be Volcae scouts, drawn no doubt by the large number of carrion birds wheeling high above the valley and calling in black ranks from the tops of the tallest trees. A hundred birds suddenly lifted into the sky from the valley floor, their wings beating like war drums.

  “Look!” Caros spotted the cast of sun from polished steel. Into view below them rode a neat line of Roman cavalry. They were in no great hurry and trotted south at a sedate pace.

  “Just a handful of them. They do not look to be scouts.” Aksel looked north up the valley, but there seemed to be no larger Roman column following.

  “They are the injured. Look, all but two or three wear bindings.” Caros watched as the Romans’ mounts began to toss their heads and snort, scenting the dead horses lying before them.

  “If we strike now, we’ll kill them all in two beats of my heart.” Aksel growled. The small band of Masulians sat their horses in deadly silence under the shady trees overlooking the valley. Caros sensed their coiled energy, waiting to be released upon the unsuspecting Romans. He brought his hand up slowly to his face and wiped away the sweat that threatened his vision.

  “No. There is no honour in this. Let them pass.” He spoke quietly and firmly.

  Aksel shook his head in frustration, but at a gesture from him, the Masulians behind him relaxed. Once the last of the Romans had passed out of sight down the valley, Caros led the Masulians down to the valley floor. He ordered a pair of scouts north, wary of the presence of the rest of the Roman cavalry. The rest watered their horses and filled their flapping waterskins before they followed.

  The sun had peaked and begun a slow descent to the west when Caros saw the scouts ahead slow and begin to quarter the ground, seeking some sign in the trail. Aksel whistled and the mood among the small column grew tense. Caros studied the tree line some fifty fast paces from them and readied his last handful of javelins. Without needing to be ordered, the Masulians spread out. They knew their craft well and would not make it easy for a massed flight of arrows or javelins to put them down. One of the scouts began to bark oddly at the sky. Perplexed, Caros looked at Aksel. A moment later, a similar barking issued from within the forest above them. Aksel grinned widely and the Masulians whooped and ululated, some imitating the strange barking.

  “I take it Jinkata is up there?” Caros smiled.

  “Yes! We are one again.” Aksel spoke with relief evident in his tone. He cared for his men deeply. He placed his hands aside his mouth and gave vent to a series of barks.

  “Do all the dogs in your land bark like that?” Caros asked in amusement.

  Aksel gauffed and recited Caros’ question to the men around him. They laughed and all began to make the sound. “It is no dog bark, but the bark of the large apes we call baboons.”

  He had heard tales of such ape creatures, but had decided they were no more than a myth for each time he heard the stories, the apes changed in size and appearance. He shook his head and looked to the tree line from which Masulians were emerging. In the spirit of the reunion he was on the verge of giving a bark of his own when his eye caught the smallest flash of sun off metal. He snapped his gaze to the north and his blood curdled. A heavily wooded hill stood apart from the western range. Breaking from its densely forested slopes came line after line of cavalry, their red capes and shining armour signaling their origins.

  “Aksel!” Caros started and shouted. The Masulian chieftain turned about on his mount, alerted by Caros’ tone. He took in the sight of the advancing Romans with a sharp breath. Reacting with speed, he issued orders and the Masulians converged into a line of their own. Caros ranged ahead of the line, gauging the valley’s width and the speed of the approaching Roman cavalry. There was space enough to fight their way free to the north, but only just. A trumpet sounded from the Roman lines and they broke into a charge. Caros spun his stallion about and raced for the outnumbered Masulian lines.

  “Aksel! To the river! We can slip past them and be away north.” Caros shouted. Aksel nodded curtly and led his men in a loping gallop towards the river. The Romans guessed their intent and their lines turned to cut them off. Cursing, Caros leaned over the neck of his stallion, eyes fastened on the leading Roman riders. They were coming at speed, their faces hard and unyielding, long spears braced to strike. Behind the lead elements of the Roman lines, yet another line appeared even closer to the river and Caros heart dropped, knowing that even if the Masulians outdistanced the first lines, they would ride into a second wall of spears. He glanced across at Aksel who’s expression blazed with fury, then Caros fixed his sight on the nearest of the Romans. The rider bared his teeth as he set his spear towards Caros and urged his mount to greater speed. Caros thrust himself higher on the horse and pinching his knees tight. With all his strength, he hurled his javelin which flew true, striking the Roman’s shoulder, burying itself deeply. The Roman yelped and slumped, pulling hard on his the reins to avoid battle. Javelins darted across the rapidly closing distance between the two forces and pitched the leading Romans off their horses, creating room enough for the column to largely outflank the leading lines. The Masulians at the rear of the column took the brunt of the attack by the Roman cavalry. Their javelins flew hard at the Romans, killing and injuring many, but then the enemy was amongst them. The Romans used their long spears to lance the unarmored Masulian riders and in a single wave of silver and red, they cut through the rear of the column. Masulians fell stricken to the foreign soil, their lighter mounts knocked aside by the heavier Roman horses. In one brief orgy of ringing iron and thumping blade, they were cut to pieces and then the Romans turned to give chase and complete the pincer movement.

  Caros spared a brief glance over his shoulder to take in the carnage behind him and his heart hardened. Turning forward, he readied his two remaining javelins as he led the column hard at the Roman horsemen that lay before them. His heart hammered like thunder in his chest as he rode at the bank of spearpoints aimed at him. The Roman line seemed resolved to blocking them and rode in close formation, knees rubbing knees. A solid wall of iron and martial training.

  The Masulians wove into a ragged line, harried at their rear by the enemy and confronting an unbroken barrier of the same to their front, they knew they had but one chance. They had to sweep aside the enemy before them so that they might flee to the safety of Hannibal’s army. With unparalleled skill, these horsemen of the deserts and wilds of Africa, rode at the disciplined forces of Rome. The distance closed in
a rumble of pounding hooves and screaming warriors. Masulians lifted themselves high on their mounts, some men virtually crouching on the backs of their mounts, hands fastened onto manes grown long for just this purpose, and set their javelins. A veteran warrior ahead of Caros held two javelins in his mouth and sprang to his feet on the back of his speeding mount. The warrior hurled the first javelin and in the blink of an eye the second and third as well. Despite the speed with which he unleashed the missiles, each found its target and before him, three Romans fell from their mounts, javelins protruding front and back. Even as he marveled at the warrior’s skill, he let fly with his own javelin only to watch it bury itself in his target’s elegant shield pattern. He hurled the last javelin and clutched at his falcata, dragging it from its sheath and roaring his battle cry. The second javelin scored the shoulder of a Roman’s mount and shattered the rider’s knee. Caros drove his mount into the rider’s screaming horse and punched his blade into the wide-eyed rider’s face. The Roman rolled over the rump of his mount with a scream and spray of blood. To either side, Masulian riders punched holes into the Roman lines with their javelins or failing that, collided with their enemy.

  His stallion thrashed at the Roman mount, hooves striking with bone jarring impact until that horse went down with a scream that deafened Caros. A blow against his shield nearly unseated him just as he thought he might make it through the lines. To his right a Roman, tight-lipped and grim, barreled into his mount. The man’s spearhead flashed and Caros batted it aside at the last moment. He tried to thrust his sword at the man’s spear arm, but was again struck from the left. He was being attacked from both sides and then a third Roman came at him from ahead. Desperately he turned his horse to counter every spear thrust, his shield hammered against his shoulder and then a spear licked at his face. Almost flat on his back, he snarled in anger and his blood boiled. With a roar, he lashed out and this time he caught the Roman’s wrist, shattering the joint and sending the spear sailing away. Sheathing his sword, he drew one of the two darts hooked inside his shield and hurled it underhand at the Roman stabbing at him from the front. The ungainly missile struck the rider under the chin and the man dropped his spear and clutched at his bloodied throat. Drawing the second dart, he saw the Roman to his left slumped over his mount, a javelin buried in his hip. Caros hurled the dart and cursed when it bounced uselessly off the man’s armour. Spinning his mount, he grabbed the Roman’s spear and pushed violently, toppling him to the trampled ground. Caros smiled mirthlessly and whirled the spear in an arc above his head. Seeing Aksel about to be overrun and stabbed through, he bellowed his war cry. “Bastetani!” He aimed the spear, not at the well-armoured torso of the Roman, but at his less well armored leg. The spear cut through the leather binding the bronze greaves to the man’s calf and tore his leg open from knee to ankle. The Roman screamed, dropped his weapon and bolted. Aksel caught Caros’ eye and mouthed his thanks. They were beyond the Roman line, free of the battle for the moment. Masulians streamed away to the north while those trapped in the melee, were overwhelmed, their lack of armour and smaller ponies counting heavily against them. Aksel growled in frustration as Caros shouted. “It is over! Come away!” The two men followed the survivors, many savagely wounded, barely clinging to their mounts. The last of the trapped Masulians went down, skewered and hacked from their mounts. The Roman cavalry turned its attention on those riders escaping north and raced after them. Ahead of Caros, a handful of Masulians broke away from the fleeing column and circled back. He recognized Manat amongst the riders and saw that these Masulians bore the few remaining javelins. Manat smiled grimly as he passed. “We will keep them occupied. Do not wait. Go!”