Gladius Winter Page 4

  Azulay leaned his horse right, and the rest followed smoothly, spears thrown again and again.

  Between them, Caros and Maleric unseated a Roman rider, driving him off and over his mount’s rump, despite the saddle the man tried to clutch. Caros leaped and stamped hard into the man’s face, cracking cartilage and teeth. The all-choking dust swallowed up the Roman as he slumped. Maleric was at Caros’ side in a heartbeat, both men panting, readying for the next. Horses milled and riders screamed in a vortex around them. More Iberians disengaged and united around their leader.

  Caros spun his head first one way then another. Romans were still at their front, but they were no longer pressing at the warriors.

  “They’re breaking off” Caros hawked and spat to clear his throat of grit. “Come! This is no time to rest.” He led the band back onto the path they had been driven from, but still the Romans were beyond their blades.

  Caros ran at shadows and at last a Roman charged him as he broke ahead of his men. Caros screamed his war cry, leaped and swept his blade down at the enemy rider. His blade struck, but the Roman’s voice stayed silent. Caros pulled the man clear of his mount, dropping him heavily to the ground and snapping the short spear that jutted from his chest. The Masulians had done their work well.

  The sun was not yet at its zenith and the day already seemed too long. A bank of clouds growing from the south, promised rain before nightfall.

  “Horse. Coming this way.” Maleric lay atop a flat rock, peering south.

  Caros flicked a glance up at the Gaul while continuing to sharpen his blade with the rasping stroke of stone on iron. About him, many of the Iberian warriors did likewise. A few tended their wounds, others slept.

  “They are ours I think.” Maleric called heartbeats later, “The Masulians! It is the Masulians!”

  The tension thickened and the men stilled, dropping whetstones into pouches and tightening armor.

  Caros did the same and rose to climb up beside Maleric who pointed silently. The Masulians hugged the land, using the ground to cover them. They were hard to spot.

  “Got them.” Caros grunted.

  “They are not fleeing.”

  “They are not.” Caros agreed.

  Dark clouds loomed above the Masulians as they broke from a shaded ravine to cross the sloping hillside to where the Iberians waited.

  Caros quickly counted them as they approached, Azulay at their front. “Twelve. None lost.”

  “There are no enemy following them.”

  “They would not have returned if there had been.”

  “All the same.”

  Azulay led the Masulians into the circle of waiting warriors. They had lost not a single man, nor taken any wounds. Their surprise assault on the Romans had devastated the enemy, and the Iberians grinned and hooted their welcome.

  Azulay sprang from his mount and raised his bushy gray eyebrows at Caros.

  “There are none left to spread the word.”

  Caros clapped the old Masulian on the shoulder. “It was well done. They would have gutted us in another few heartbeats.”

  Azulay took in the Iberian warriors.

  Caros confirmed what the horseman’s eyes saw. “Two men killed and four more cut up, but not bad enough to slow us.” He gestured to the growing rain clouds. “That may be in our favor.”

  Azulay nodded warily. “Rains will wash away our tracks and dampen the dust.” He uncapped his waterskin and drank sparingly. “Still, we need more than water in our bellies.”

  Caros was acutely aware of the hunger pangs. “We have bought some time and have gained many more mounts. We ride south now before the storm hits and tonight we can eat fresh meat around warm fires.”

  The skin around Azulay’s eyes creased with his wide smile. “Since it will be Roman horse we butcher, not even the most squeamish of the men will baulk.”

  Caros guessed it was nearing mid-afternoon when he felt the first spots of rain fall like cool relief on his hands and face. The clouds had hovered over the waters of the sea, darkening with every stade covered. Now they swelled and seethed above them.

  In the distance rain was already falling in sheets so Caros circled his arm above his head to gather the warriors before the storm hit them. As he did so, the breeze freshened and brought with it hints of newly dampened soil and sea mists.

  “This is going to be a wet night!” Maleric called as he rode closer. Already the breeze had stiffened into a sharp wind.

  Caros pointed. “There is a likely looking campsite up against that hillside. It will not keep us dry, but it will keep the worst of the wind at bay.”

  The bare hillside faced north and the moment the column of riders reached it, the force of the wind died considerably.

  The men were seasoned travelers and quickly set about gathering wood.

  At Caros’ orders, four of the Iberian warriors eagerly led a single captured Roman mount away upwind. They would slaughter it swiftly and dress enough meat for the others. Warriors secured the rest of the mounts and gathered wood from a copse of trees at the foot of the precipice that led at the summit of the hill.

  Thunder rumbled now, and the belly of the giant cloud flickered ominously. Caros spat to ward off any malign shade that might find its way through the fissures in the sky.

  Working in pairs, men unrolled canopies of sown hides and quickly erected a crude shelters in the lee of the precipice, high up the hillside. Two fires were light close to the rock and sheltered from the worst of the rain when it came.

  By nightfall proper, horseflesh was sizzling appetizingly over flames. Shining faced men stood around the fires, blades in hand, taking turns to cut off the meat in greasy hunks as it turned from red to less red. It had been days since they had last eaten fresh meat and their eyes were fixed on their meal.

  Rappo brought a portion of meat to Caros and Maleric before darting back to claim his own.

  Maleric tore into his with gusto. Around a mouthful of stringy meat, “If I do not lose a tooth to this nag’s flesh it will be a miracle. Even so it tastes good, eh?”

  Caros bit into the flesh. He had eaten tougher, but not by much. Still, it was warm and nourishing and even if half of every mouthful was gristle, it revived him as well as the best banquet he had ever enjoyed.

  The meat sat heavy in his stomach and woke him deep in the night. He stirred silently beneath his coat. Water dripped from every stitch in the canopy and when he sat, his head met with the low hanging leathers, where rain had pooled. Maleric grunted and Caros saw the glitter of one eye opened to survey what had woken him.

  Staggering out from under the sodden canopy, his tunic twisted around his wet body, Caros cursed moodily. The rain was gone and a bright swathe of stars glittered above. He adjusted his clothing and tied his sandals. Warriors slept soundly in a ragged line beneath the precipice.

  Caros looked about, thinking at first that there was no sentry. Then he spied a shadowed form perched on a nest of boulders nearby. He paced cautiously over the loose stones and mud. The shadow form moved and eyes shone in the night.

  “It is I, Caros.” He did not want a spear in the gut although that might be preferable to the cramp he felt. Roman horseflesh did not agree with him it seemed.

  “You move like a shadow. Nearly scared my own free of my chest.”

  Caros placed the man. An Iberian. “Karn right?”

  “Same. Are we moving on?”

  “No. Need to free up my gut. Feels like the Roman mount wants to trot.”

  “Ay, couple of the other men are suffering like that.” He pointed off to the left with his spear. “You can get some leaves to clean with over there, just mind where you put your feet if you know what I mean.”

  Caros was returning to the sentry when he saw the man stand rapidly. He paused, sensing the man’s alarm across the distance. He had no weapon with him, his blades all gathering rust beside his cloak under the canopy. He started forward and jogged carefully to where Karn had jumped to the groun
d from his perch on the boulder. Coming to a sliding halt in the mud, Caros groped for purchase on the boulder.

  Karn hissed with fright. “Again with the startling me!” “What have you seen?”

  “Thought I saw men crossing the ground down there. Nothing moving about now.”

  Caros stared. “There is still a lot of dark between now and dawn. Who moves around at night?” Skeptically, he viewed the landscape below them, a patchwork of impenetrable blacks and shadowy grays. “Is it just you on watch?”

  Unhappy at being doubted, Karn’s reply was tight. “Hillcrow will be taking over before dawn.” He shrugged. “The Masulians set their own watch.”

  “Alert Hillcrow when he takes over. If there are men about at night, they are a threat.”

  “Should we… never mind.” Karn grinned sheepishly at Caros who stared past him. “Gods. Your eyes did not deceive you after all.”

  The guard turned his head and cursed. A shadow line was climbing the hill. Slowly and silently, they rose out of the deeper black of the foliage below the hill’s bare flank.

  “Fall back and wake everyone!” Caros grabbed at the Iberian and they both sprinted up the hill, calling the alarm.

  Warriors cried out in fright, woken from already troubled dreams. They scrambled and lurched upright from their sleep, swords and spears ringing and clattering amid curses and invocations.

  Caros knew the danger of fighting with cold blades in the dark. Without sight, panic would quickly lead to men stabbing at their brothers and spilling their blood instead of the enemy’s.

  “Hold your blades! Make a line!” He was panting from the run as Maleric lumbered upright before him.

  “What in Orca’s balls is happening now? It is night for fucks sake!”

  “Where are my blades?”

  “You do not have them?”

  Caros shook his head in annoyance and dived under the canopy, snatched up his sword and backed out. The men formed a crude line with every man calling out questions or shouting challenges. He needed them to marshal themselves or the Romans would roll over them.

  “Stand fast and hold your tongues!” His voice rose above the wild babble. “Get your shields up, find your blades. Let them talk for you!”

  The change was abrupt, the warriors fell silent within a heartbeat and squared their shoulders.

  Azulay appeared beside him. “There are many, but I do not think they are Roman.”

  “You know this?”

  “I had a pair of men watching the horses. They alerted me at the same time I heard you raise the alarm.”

  Despite the starlight, it was still ominously dark and all but impossible to see into the blackness at the foot of the slope where the strangers had been seen.

  “Have we any torches? I want light out there.” Caros snapped the order out as he strained to see the enemy. “Azulay, since your warriors did not scream like little children when they were woken,” He glared accusingly at those warriors nearest, “Have them remain silent and hidden. You should strike the enemy in the flank if it comes to battle.”

  Azulay nodded and turned away, disappearing as silently as he had arrived. A warrior struck flint behind him and a moment later Caros saw the first ripples of firelight flare behind him.

  “Do not stare at the flames! Keep your shields up and eyes wide!” Caros stalked along the line of warriors. In the rain-cleansed air, they smelled of wet hounds, blood and smoke. Four spluttering torches of resin-filled pine cones were hurled high and far into the night. That would give them some hope of spotting a massed attack.

  The torches burned true and were stout enough to burn even as they bounced and rolled on the hillside below. They lay at the distance of a spear throw and the men grunted, pleased. At that distance, there could be no unseen flight of spears hurtling from the dark.

  From beyond the light cast by the torches, came a call. “The encampment! We wish you no ill or harm friends! We hold no blade bared in our hands!”

  Caros stood rock still for a heartbeat. This was an age old greeting, traditional when approaching a strange village or gathering. He strode forward. Maleric started to follow, but Caros signaled for him to hold.

  “Stranger, this is a poor time to approach! Best name yourself!”

  “Lebita, son of Casyet of the Turdetani. We had hoped to reach you sooner, but the storm held us up.”

  The Turdetani was a tall man, with hollow cheeks and stooped shoulders. He sat beside Caros in front of a small fire spitting and crackling in a circle of rocks. His warriors were already rolled up in their matted cloaks and thankful their march was over.

  Lebita told Caros of how he and his warriors had decided to return to their Iberian homes rather than continue to Rome with Hannibal’s army. He claimed that many others had also broken away, and they had encountered a few of these bands as they travelled.

  Caros was well aware that others had decided to return home rather than face the risks of fighting so far from their lands.

  “So, you were the men we spotted before dawn. We had thought you might be Romans.” Caros watched as Lebita tore another bite of horse flesh free and swallowed hungrily. Licking his lips, he grunted, “The Romans had been hunting us for two days. We expected they would find and attack us that morning. When your lot appeared out of nowhere…” He paused to shake his head, “We thought they had snuck up on us. We were braced to die, but you just rode by, leaving us with our arses clenched tighter than a duck’s and our hearts in our mouths.”

  Caros huffed. “You returned the favor this night. We were sure you were Romans.” He fed a last splintered branch into the flames and gave a crooked smile. “Might say we were a little disappointed you were not.”

  Lebita snorted. “We heard the battle you fought. Those were the bastards that were after us.” He shook his head. “You butchered them all. I counted. Even rode down those that fled.” He bit and chewed, speaking around the food. “That was well fought. They are tough bastards those Romans. Give them that.”

  Caros eyes tightened and he looked away into the dark, an ill-feeling loose in his chest. “Sounds like you know these Romans well?” He asked after a moment, looking back.

  Lebita stuffed a final piece of the meat into his mouth and chewed. Caros glanced up at the firmament, trying to keep his distrust of the Turdetani from his face. Yet, his throat felt exposed, as though a blade was poised to strike. The Turdetani lands bordered his own Bastetani lands and there was little love between the two tribes. He pulled his chin down to his chest and breathed easier.

  Lebita seemed not to notice Caros’ unease. “Everyone says they are hard men. They have earned a reputation have they not?” Lebita’s eyes flashed briefly.

  Caros shrugged. “You marched through the storm and the dark to reach us. Why?”

  Looking uncomfortable, Lebita coughed. “We had hoped we could travel with you. We have not joined up with other bands because we wanted to go at our own pace rather than be slowed down. Most have wounded men and are moving too slowly.” His dark eyes fixed on Caros.

  “More swords and shields would be useful. The thing is you do not have a horse between the lot of you.”

  Lebita clenched his jaw. “So no then?”

  Caros paused. He had an obligation to get Hannibal’s missives to the commanders in Iberia. Combining with the Turdetani would slow them down to less than half their daily distance.

  “I will think on it and discuss it with my men tomorrow.” He held up a hand to prevent Lebita from speaking. “I make no promises.”

  “If you encounter more Romans, do you think you have enough swords to win the next battle? The Romans are no fools.” Lebita reined in his words. “I speak out of turn. I apologize.” He turned his face to where his men slept.

  Caros rose. “There is time enough to get some sleep before dawn.” He stepped away from the dying fire and stopped. “These warriors with me, every man is as hard or harder than the Romans. We are harder and we win our battles. You sa
w the results.” His words came out like iron from a sheath and the eyes of the rangy Turdetani widened.

  When morning came Caros was already up. He had slept poorly and so while the camp still slumbered, he climbed to the top of the precipice to get a look at the land south. From his vantage, he could see the distant sea between the foothills. He wanted to avoid the coast, but needed to travel south one more day to break through the Roman cordon. Then he could swing the column westwards again. Below him the men were rising and breaking camp. He watched the newcomers, recounting their sixty heads.

  They had no means to build pyres for the two warriors who had fallen the previous day and instead built cairns over their bodies. As the remaining warriors said their farewells to the dead, Caros took aside Maleric, Azulay, and Gunurst to discuss the Turdetani’s request to accompany them.

  “So they made all haste here hoping we would protect them on the journey?” Maleric sneered. “Might have been readier to welcome them if they had had the balls to stand with us yesterday.”

  “That is one way of looking at it.” Caros said mildly.

  Azulay’s face remained impassive. “They have swords and are enemies of our enemy.”

  Caros inclined his head. “They will slow us down. Even with the extra mounts, we cannot put every man on horseback.”

  “Might consider sacrificing speed for the extra numbers.”

  “Speed or numbers. They are untested though. We might find them fleeing at the first sight of a Roman.” Maleric cautioned. “Like I said, they should have come to our side yesterday.”

  The three men fell silent. In the distance, the sounds of the Turdetani increased as they broke camp and formed into a marching column two abreast.

  “Well, they look eager enough.” Maleric conceded.

  “Numbers then.” Azulay spoke.

  Caros nodded unenthusiastically. “For now.”

  Chapter 4

  Rappo returned an hour after they set out across the rough terrain, heading south. He rode directly to Caros at the head of the now much longer column. He wore a wide grin as did his companion.