Gladius Winter Page 5

  “We have found a well-used trail leading south.” He jockeyed his horse into position alongside Caros. “We followed it and found a village of Gauls.”

  Maleric grinned. “Sounds like a worthwhile place to visit! Were they friendly, boy?” Rappo’s grin slipped a little at being addressed as boy.

  Caros gave the big Boli Gaul a stern look before asking, “Well? Were they?”

  Trading for provisions was a major concern as they were down to just hard crusts and suspicious looking fragments in the corners of the feed bags.

  Rappo nodded. “They allowed us to water the horses and offered us ale.”

  Maleric hooted. “What did I tell you?”

  Caros grinned. “Fortune smiles on us at last.”

  The column turned for the better trail and crossed two hillsides to get to it. The rutted road showed that carts used the road on occasion. Caros hoped that this meant the villagers might have a surplus of grain or other provisions they would trade. He insisted that every warrior remain cautious and alert for the presence of Roman forces.

  “Azulay, this village may attract the Romans. Be sure to keep eyes well out on our flanks and get six good riders to circle to the south of the village.”

  “I will and others are already guarding our flanks. They know the rain has reduced the dust so the Romans might appear without warning.”

  Caros grimaced at the thought although he expected they had enough blades to see off a much larger Roman force than the one they had destroyed the previous morning.

  “How far to the village from here, Rappo?”

  The young Masulian had remained with Caros at the head of the column to show the way.

  “There is a shallow valley ahead, and the village lies at the southern end. We will arrive at the sun’s highest.”

  Six Masulians streamed past, sent on their way by Azulay.

  “They will scout the land south of the village and two will return if all is clear. The rest will meet us at there.”

  Maleric turned to look at Caros as they smelled the smoke. It was the scent of wood smoke with none of the stink of seared flesh and scorched leathers. Rounding a bend in the trail they saw a scattering of farmers working a field. They had lit a fire to burn the brush they were clearing.

  The farmers stopped in their work, alarmed at the sight of the warriors. Already three were fleeing for the nearby tree line. Women, bunching their skirts so they could run faster.

  There were growls and hoots from among the marching warriors as they spied the women.

  Caros spun to address them. “None of that! We have no need for more enemies!” He scowled down the length of the column. The Turdetani warriors were in the center and many of them were still leering across the field.

  “Lebita! See that your fellows keep the peace.”

  The Turdetani leader shrugged. “We will not molest the villagers. Though it has been a long while since any of us has had the opportunity to wet our spears.”

  More of his warriors whooped and whistled and lewd suggestions were shouted at the fleeing women. Caros turned his horse and rode directly to where Lebita sat his gifted mount, one of those taken from the Romans.

  Leaning across his mount’s withers, he hissed, “Control your men right away. I will not have any disturbances now nor at the village. If you do not think you can do that, tell me now.”

  Lebita glared at Caros a heartbeat before turning to his men. “Shut your holes! Keep your hands off the village bitches and your eyes on the hills!” To his credit, the men fell silent and resumed their pace. Turning to Caros, he smiled briefly. “No problem. We Turdetani do not make war on women and children.”

  Caros eyed the man with growing dislike before turning back to the head of the column. He waved to the farming men who had backed towards the woods, pitchforks and clubs in white-knuckled grips. Between the trees he glimpsed the Gaelic women. They had turned and were waiting in the shadows, hunting bows notched. He grinned inwardly, no pushovers these.

  Maleric gave him a look as he resumed his place. “Hope those bastards do not ruin it for us. Gauls are a very hospitable people until foreigners try it on with our womenfolk.” He smiled wolfishly.

  “You will hold to the same rules, Gaul or not.” Caros grunted. “Besides, I see you as more of a drinker than a lover.”

  Maleric hawked and spat. “Unlike your lot, Gauls can do both astonishingly well.” He grinned again and raised a hand to ward off a retort. “I will behave, after all, someone will have to keep you from offending these Gauls.”

  The valley Rappo had described was good land. The soil richer than any they had crossed in the last days. It boded well for plentiful provisions from the villagers.

  When they caught their first glimpse of the village at the end of the valley, Caros was pleased to see that the farmland surrounding it had recently been harvested. The fields of stubble hosted a herd of cattle peacefully grazing in the warm sunshine.

  Caros was aware of his stomach turning in anticipation of freshly baked bread and fresh cuts of juicy beef. He slowed his mount and came to a halt.

  “Why are we stopping? I can smell bread!” Maleric groused.

  “We await news from the scouts Azulay sent ahead.”

  “Well the bastards better hurry back because this is an unpleasant torture.”

  Caros glanced at Azulay who shrugged. The decidedly pleasant aroma of cooking was strong on the breeze blowing up the valley.

  The column of warriors sitting alongside the trail in the soft grass were becoming restive when an alert lookout called the alarm. Two riders came through the trees on their right and broke cover just ahead of the column. The scouts waved the all clear and the tense warriors cheered. Caros gave Maleric a wide grin, feeling his shoulders relax for the first time in a long while.

  Caros rode the remainder of the distance to the settlement accompanied by Maleric, Azulay, and Gunurst, the surly Oretani leading man. Lebita had gritted his teeth when Caros asked that he remain and oversea making camp well outside the village walls, but accepted the role.

  Approaching the timber palisade that surrounded the village, Caros took time to appreciate the well-tended fields, healthy livestock and well-built fortifications. Discovering the settlement was good fortune. They might be able to provision well enough to see them all the way home.

  Droves of children, tow-headed boys and girls all, ran through the waist high growth beside the track, pointing at Caros and his companions. Dogs chased the children and alternately growled at the strange riders.

  The villagers were massed at the gates, the air filled with their excited chatter, the playful boasting of young men and the shrill sound of women’s voices.

  Well before the gates, their villagers safely behind them, stood a wedge of a dozen Gaelic warriors ready to receive or repel them.

  Caros examined the men’s armor and blades from a distance and before their faces became clearer. Three men stood forward of the front ranks and were well equipped with oval shields, artfully decorated with prancing beasts. The men themselves, wore domed iron helms, greaves and mail shirts over padded leather. They carried heavy spears with blades as wide as his hand and as long as his forearm. Each man also bore a long sword in a scabbard, the hilts protruding up past the men’s left shoulders. These were the settlements leading warriors and possibly also their chief family. A father and his sons, perhaps. The distance narrowed and Caros slowed his horse and gestured to Maleric.

  “Hold the branch up. It is of no use hanging at your side unless you want a slingshot through your skull.”

  Maleric’s eyes were fixed on the Gaelic warriors. He frowned in irritation and lifted the leafy bough to shoulder height, giving it a shake that spooked his horse from under him.

  Caros rolled his eyes while Maleric hissed, his mount doing a full circle on the trail while he held on with a death grip, terrified of landing on his ass in full view of the entire village.

  Bringing the spooked horse unde
r control, Maleric spat on his hand and wetted his mustache back into place. The riders had come to a stop, and he looked around at them, owl-eyed. “Just wanted to let her work it off before we got closer.”

  Gunurst looked away and Azulay gave a grieved sigh.

  “Good idea. Ready?” Caros asked, face deadpan.

  “After you my young Bastetani leading man.” Maleric gestured extravagantly and then stared in horror at his hand.

  Caros winced. “Ay, I think you dropped the peace tree.” He grinned widely. “On the other hand, I do not think they consider us a threat.”

  The riders looked up at the Gaelic village to find the villagers pointing and laughing while the children pantomimed circling wildly, hair flying in all directions.

  Maleric muttered under his breath for a heartbeat. “Well? Are we going to the village or not?”

  Caros’ smile vanished. “Do you know who they are?”

  “I have never been this far west, Bigerri perhaps.”

  “This is a wealthy village and look at that fine-looking helm he wears.” Caros did not need to say more.

  The obvious leader of the Gauls was broad and tall, his height made more impressive with a finely decorated helm complete with dyed horsehair plume.

  “He will be their war leader, not their leading man.” Maleric eyed the big Gaul.

  Behind the trio, the rest of the Gaelic warriors wore the familiar armor of men with moderate or little wealth. Some greaves, chest plates and iron helms. The rest was boiled leather and padding. Their weapons were war spears, not as fine as those of their leaders, but they would spit a man’s belly just as well.

  When they were within hailing distance, Caros drew ahead of Maleric and lifted his hand. The men with him halted at his back and he continued forward, halving the distance to the Gauls until he could see a burn scar on the Gaelic war leader’s cheek.

  He dismounted. “Greetings the settlement. I am Caros of the Bastetani, son of Joaquim.”

  The settlement’s large Gaul stepped forward and planted his spear end in the ground.

  “Greetings and peace, Caros son of Joaquim. I am Vestivaxus, son of Axutgetarix. You travel with many warriors, yet no women or children?”

  “We are returning to our homes having given our service to the great General of Carthage, Hannibal Barca.” Caros swept a hand out to encompass the surrounding fields, forests and settlement. “These are fine lands and a prosperous settlement. Have no fear though, we seek only to barter for provisions before we continue our journey.”

  The Gaelic leader stared beyond Caros, his eyes studying the column of warriors and horsemen sat upon the trail. He undid the strap beneath his chin and removed his helm, placing it under his arm. His blond hair was braided and shone with the grease his woman would have rubbed into it. He scratched reflexively through his similarly braided mustache.

  “This Hannibal, we have heard of his war with Rome. No bad thing that. Some of our own lads went north to join his army.” Vestivaxus grunted at Caros, then nodded at the men still sitting their mounts at Caros’ back. “You and your companions there are welcome to eat with me and mine. You must have much news to tell.” Vestivaxus stepped towards Caros and extended his right arm.

  Caros dipped his chin and clasped Vestivaxus’ hand. “I am honored, as are the men with me.”

  Vestivaxus turned to face the warriors and villagers gathered both in the mouth of the gate and along the palisade.

  “This is Caros of the Bastetani! He and his men are my guests!”

  The settlement was everything Caros expected considering the richness of the countryside, the strong palisade and of course Vestivaxus’ himself. They walked through muddy paths between thatched homes where handfuls of children shrieked and scampered at their heels in excitement. Dogs slunk off down narrow alleys and crawled under raised floors, barking and yipping. Villagers stared with open curiosity, their chores forgotten for a brief moment. Bare chested men were rebuilding a fence that had collapsed, others sat on roof beams, thatching the summer straw. Women, young and old worked at pounding grain with large wooden pestles while others winnowed and still more ground it to flour between rounded rocks.

  “Your people enjoyed a good harvest.” Caros spoke as they tramped through the mud.

  “Thanks given to Opona. She has looked favorably on us for some seasons now.” Vestivaxus bulled through a doorway into another path, equally muddy. Men stepped aside to make way for the large man as much out of respect as prudence. They too were repairing damaged homes.

  Vestivaxus noticed Caros looking. “The gods sent a storm to remind us we are shite and they rule.” He grinned, “Or as the druids would have it, to remind us to be generous when we sacrifice our harvest and livestock in thanks.”

  Caros sidestepped a tumble of old straw, his sandals were already cover in glutinous black mud. “We were up a hill last night, not enjoying their reminder in the least.”

  Vestivaxus laughed. “I can imagine why. Still, here you are.” He led through a gate in a sturdy wooden wall. Within was a large circular area where food was being prepared over large fire pits lined with blackened rocks. The aromas of cooking that had been growing, now overwhelmed Caros, his mouth flooded with saliva.

  Vestivaxus shouted and clapped his hands, alerting all to his presence and the presence of guests. At once, boys and girls began to scatter armfuls of threshing thickly over the mud. A dog, emboldened by the smell of meat fled from a kick. Children ran in circles, weaving between legs and dodging one another in raucous joy. A wailing child of no older than three seasons collided with Caros’ legs. Caros reached down to steady the tot, but he quickly wiped his nose on the hem of Caros’ tunic and took off again on his bandy little legs. Caros eyed the silvery green streak on his tunic and sighed.

  Vestivaxus pulled a face. “To think we were all snot-nosed brats once.” The man was undoing his armor as he spoke. A thin man, skin pocked by disease and wearing skins came forward and caught the mail before it could fall to the ground. “Shine and grease it before you hang it this time.” The man coughed and nodded before staggering away on emaciated legs. “Not long for the world that one.” Vestivaxus looked after the retreating servant. “You have any?”

  “Servants?”

  “Children.”

  “Ah, I have none. These are all yours?” Caros counted at least eight children who were had not yet sprouted hair on their bodies or come to womanhood.

  “Some are mine. Do not ask which. I am content to just sire them.” He laughed. “The one that wiped his nose on you. I am fair to certain that was one of mine.” The Gaul grinned at Caros.

  “A proper Gaul then.” Caros laughed.

  He sat beside Vestivaxus, and the man’s wife, Leucivix, a woman of stunning beauty. Vestivaxus was a fortunate man. Despite the children that had passed through her, she was still square shouldered and clear eyed. More than that, she possessed a sharp mind and was more than capable of shouldering her role as the wife of the tribe’s war leader, a woman the others would look to for leadership.

  A man entered the through the gate in the compound wall and Leucivix hissed in surprise. “He came.”

  Vestivaxus shot her a warning look and rose. “Brunnod! You honor us!” he held his arms out wide in greeting.

  Leucivix looked at Caros and rolled her eyes. “He is our leading man when things are exceptional. When hard decisions are required, he is found wanting.”

  Brunnod eyed Caros flatly when introduced. “Greetings and health, traveler. Enjoy our bounty this night. It has been a hard time of late and the harvest less than bountiful, but we continue to serve Opona faithfully.” His eyes shifted and slid over Leucivix’s body as the woman spoke to a servant.

  Caros knew at once the man was already hard at work pushing up the value of the produce he and his warriors so badly needed.

  “May Opona grant you a better harvest next season. I would be grateful to trade for any surplus meal and breads with our limited
means.”

  Brunnod snapped his eyes from Leucivix’s lithe body. “Eh? Ah, er… there is ground meal. Hams too. Wine, sweet and soured.” His eyes wandered again to Leucivix.

  Vestivaxus stepped forward. “Talk of trade can surely wait till morning. For the moment I want to hear more of the battle against the Volcae vermin and especially how you defeated the Romans.” The Gaul smiled widely through his mustache.

  Brunnod cocked his head. “You fight for these Barca’s the world is so sick of? Even against Rome?”

  Caros’ eyes narrowed. “I did. Now, I and the warriors in the fields are returning to our homes.”

  Leucivix was suddenly there with two cups of ale. “Drink! The food will follow soon.”

  Brunnod shook his head and turned away.

  “He is enamored by all things Roman. See if he still feels that way when Rome turns her eyes on our wealth.” Leucivix’s voice was hard.

  The ale was potent and Caros limited himself to small sips. The food as it came, was another matter. He was ravenous and ate everything that passed under his hands, from honeyed roast roots to succulent hog.

  He told Vestivaxus and the gathered Gaul’s of the battle on the Rhône, of Hannibal and of his war with Rome.

  “So you decided to return to your home after that battle?” Leucivix asked as she bit into a steamed apple.

  “There is much to be rebuilt.” Caros tossed the rib bone he had stripped white into the growing pile at their feet.

  “You think this Barca can defeat the Romans?” Vestivaxus asked. “His father fought them and lost.”

  “Hannibal is favored. In Iberia, a peace treaty between tribes is considered a success if it lasts a single season. Yet, Hannibal leads many peoples and he of them a single powerful tribe.”

  “Then he must be favored for such leadership is a gift. Some feel it is their right, but that is not so.” Leucivix spoke. “Your friend, the Boii Gaul. He could never lead, but then he does not wish to.” She reached for the last apple, “Beside him is another who thinks he is a leading man, but is no more than a puffed up cockerel.”