Maharra

by J Glenn Bauer

  Nearby, Aksel staggered and righted himself before joining in. “Barca!” The captains too took up the shout and rallied their men. With pila still slapping into warm flesh and death by blade on their flanks, Hanno’s force roared like lions brought to bay.

  Caros charged the Volcae at the foot of the hill, the remnants of Hanno’s warriors, now less than fifteen hundred men, followed. With Maleric at his side and Hanno on his shoulder, the Bastetani warrior drove the Volcae backwards, tripping them up as they stumbled. His falcata swung in deadly arcs, cutting through flesh and snapping bones. An arrow drummed off his helmet, a spear drove into the greave on his right leg and a slingshot scored a bloody furrow below his ear. He felt none of the blows as he stormed over the Volcae that tried to stand and resist. A screaming warrior lunged at him and Caros let him crash onto his shield before lifting him over his shoulder to fall amongst the African warriors who mercilessly skewered him. Then he was at the crest of the hill with just a thin line of Volcae warriors between him and the makeshift barricade they had built. With a final war cry, Caros charged the defenders who replied with their own ferocious and suicidal charge. Shields resounded with heavy blows and men screamed as mortal wounds were inflicted, dropping them maimed and bleeding amongst the milling feet of their comrades and enemies. His shield splintered to kindling, Caros drove his sword into the belly of a warrior and with his left hand clamped over the man’s face, forced him up against the log wall. With a savage twist, he eviscerated the warrior and toppled his lifeless body over the wall. Gasping for breath, he turned left and right to see that Hanno’s Africans now held the wall. Hanno was directing the rearguard to keep the Volcae from retaking their small gain. Aksel limped up the hill and collapsed against the logs beside Caros.

  “Odlussus.” He shook his head.

  Caros grunted, lips a tight line in his blood-smeared face. He sheathed his falcata with trembling hands and leaned against the logs to clear his head.

  The hill was theirs and already Carthaginians were streaming over the wall from the riverside. Angry, bloodied Libyans, wild looking hill tribesmen, nimble Iberians and wide-shouldered Gauls. They crossed to take the fight to the Volcae on their terms, to exact a measure of retribution for those comrades killed on the riverbank or sunk forever under the waters of the Rhone. They crossed because they fought for Hannibal, son of Hamilcar the Thunderer and his army would not be denied.

  Epilogue

  The Volcae, battered and defeated had broken and fled the field, dispersing into the hills. Unmolested, the bulk of Hannibal’s army began crossing the Rhine and throughout the day barges had crisscrossed the river, ferrying warriors and camp followers from west to east banks. By nightfall, much of the army lay encamped on ground above the scene of the battle.

  Caros sat on a stool beneath a canopy stretched between poles. His hands still shook while his body burned and ached. A Libyan healer cleaned his wounds and stitched a deep cut in his forearm. The man backed away when he was done with a reminder to Caros to clean the wounds often with sour wine. Relieved at last to be alone, he drew a breath and stared at his hands, fascinated and afraid at the trembling he could not seem to control. With a curse, he clenched them between his knees and stared across the army encampment. Immediately he noticed a body of horsemen approaching from the south. Coming to a halt, the Masulians waved and greeted Caros and with triumphant smiles. From within their midst they prodded a captive forward, his military uniform torn and bloody, but unmistakably Roman. A rider yanked at the rough noose around the Roman’s throat and the man toppled from the back of his mount. Landing heavily, he grunted and cursed.

  “Do you understand and speak Greek?” Caros asked coldly. Elbows bound at his back, the Roman struggled into a sitting position and glared at Caros.

  “I am a Roman and educated. Of course, I do.”

  “Then I do not envy you your last hours.”

  Deep into the night, his body bloodied and raw, the Roman broke. With a voice ragged and torn from screaming, he gasped out what he knew. Whenever he faltered, Maleric would move and with a moan of fear, the man would begin talking again. Towards dawn, his flayed chest heaved and a last soft whine escaped his bloodied lips.

  Maleric grunted and gave Caros an indifferent shrug. The Bastetani stared at the now lifeless body in silence, his brow creased and his eyes dark. He came to a decision at last and rose from the rock that had been his seat throughout the gruesome ordeal.

  Aksel rose with him. “You will go back?”

  Caros gestured to the body. “Would you not? An army of Roman legionaries is set to invade my land.” He looked to the west. “I must. I fear their vengeance will be brutal.”

  “Hannibal has left two armies to safeguard Iberia. Is that not enough?”

  “You have seen how many warriors were lost crossing one river. How many will be left by the time he has scaled the mountains and approaches Rome itself?” He shook his head sadly. “I fear his plan to cut the head from the serpent will lead to his defeat.”

  Aksel placed a weary hand on Caros’ shoulder. “You are the Claw of the Lion, if anyone can drive the Romans into the sea, it is you.”

  Caros grinned. “We have had some experience doing just that, you and I.”

  The End.

  Historical Note

  In 218 BC, Hannibal Barca sallied from his capital in Qart Hadasht (Cartagena, Spain) where he had wintered his army after crushing the city-state of Saguntum the year before.

  The sacking of Saguntum had serious repercussions for the Barca regime. Rome, angered by this apparent breaking of a long-standing treaty, sent Quintus Fabius to Carthage to demand that Hannibal Barca be handed over to them for execution. The senate of ruling Carthaginian nobles refused the demand and so Rome declared war on Carthage.

  Hannibal departed from his capital in late spring of 218 BC and marched on the untamed tribes of the Pyrenees in northern Iberia. Polybius writes that Hannibal overcame a number of settlements through ferocious attacks, overrunning them in short order. Four tribes in particular are cited; Illurgetes, Burgusii, Andosinni and Aeronosii. Polybius mentions that Hannibal was in contact with the Celtic tribes of the Alps and the valley of Padus in order to gain their assistance against Rome. Marching fifty thousand infantry and nine thousand cavalry to the river Rhone, Hannibal was following an invasion plan drawn up by Hasdrubal the Fair before his assassination in 221 BC.

  At the river Rhone, Hannibal’s army was confronted by massed ranks of the Volcae tribesmen opposed to Carthage. Hannibal dispatched Hanno, the son of Bomilcar with a force of Spanish infantry to cross the Rhone upriver in order to launch a surprise attack on the tribesmen from the rear.

  The Roman historian, Titus Livius aka Livy also mentions a cavalry engagement fought on the eastern bank of the Rhone. He states that three hundred Roman and Gaul cavalry clashed with a column of five hundred Numidian horsemen. Both sides suffered heavy losses, but the Romans got the upper hand and the Numidians broke and fled.

  Author’s note

  To begin, thank you for choosing to read Maharra and I sincerely hope you enjoyed it.

  I do not solicit readers for their emails, and I don’t do newsletters so instead, here is a brief update on what’s happened and my plans as of April 2019.

  Those of you who follow me on social media will know I took to boat-life in 2018 and now live on the waterways of England. Writing onboard Weybourne has proven to be exhilarating now that I have overcome all the many pleasant distractions.

  As I sit here blowing on my fingers and typing, the April sun is rising on a misty canal in rural Wiltshire, the dawn chorus is well underway and it is even odds on who will go past the window first; canoeist, jogger or cyclist. I expect mother duck and her clutch of thirteen energized chicks to come by soon, followed by a progression of various narrow boats and barges. See what I mean about distractions?

  With this second title, I hope you are becoming more immersed in the Sons of Iberia series because t
here are two more available at the time of writing this and four more to be written. After all, the 2nd Punic War lasted fourteen years and Carthaginian resistance to Rome continued in the Cisalpine for a few years after Hannibal’s defeat in Africa. While in Hispania, the Romans got it very wrong and took two hundred years to subdue the Iberians. With such a long campaign, Caros’ tale is only just beginning.

  You may have seen and read the first prequel to the series, Rise of the Spears, which I released in 2018. My thinking is that there are great backstories to some of the characters you encounter in Sons of Iberia. The prequels are short novellas that tell of these characters’ lives before the time period covered in Sons of Iberia. In this way, you will be able to explore the ancient past and enjoy the excitement, love and danger of a world untamed by man. I foresee at least twelve prequels, but there could be many more. The first, Rise of the Spears, centres on Dubgetious, a Bastetani warrior who made an appearance in Gladius Winter. It also features Hamilcar Barca and his famous son, Hannibal.

  I am an indie author and self-publish all my titles. I am aware that my grammar, spelling and formatting may not be perfect, and I apologize for any mistakes you may have noticed that I failed to edit. I assure you that I am working hard to improve with every page, chapter and book.

  There is no offer yet to adapt Sons of Iberia for TV and since I don’t have a publisher or agent, there is no active plan in place to secure such a deal. If you think Sons of Iberia would make great viewing on Netflix or Amazon, please let me know. Or better yet, if you know the right person, let them know. I guess that is a bit of a cheeky ask, but I am an indie author because I love writing and I baulk at the idea of all the writing time I would lose while communicating with agents, publishers and studios.

  For the same reason, I don’t have a Patreon profile through which to solicit monthly subscription payments from readers for all kinds of added bling. I prefer to focus my creative efforts on the actual material you want and enjoy. All I ask is that you leave an honest review on Amazon or Goodreads for the titles you have read and recommend my books to your reader friends.

  That is all from me until the next title. Oh, if there is a character whose backstory you would enjoy reading in a prequel, let me know via a message on any of my social media accounts or by emailing me at j.glennbauer@gmail.com.

  About the Autho

  r

  As a child, my playground was the wide-open veldt with the blue African sky above. Jungle gyms grew naturally from seed and the pet store was just beyond the garden gate. I wore shoes under protest and then only to school and church. I absolutely needed a bath every night.

  After high school, I served as an operational medic for two years and treated everything from massive trauma to deadly disease. I've swum in the crocodile-infested Okavango and seen entire villages succumb to malaria. I have tracked poachers and listened from my sleeping bag to hunting lions prowling beyond the firelight.

  Life is tamer now. I live onboard a Seamaster cabin boat in the heart of England, enjoying the garden-like rural landscape. Fortunate to have the life-experience I have, I draw greedily on it when writing of the lives of men and women in a very much wilder Europe.