Gladius Winter Page 6

  Brunnod glance their way, no doubt feeling the weight of Leucivix’s words.

  Vestivaxus sighed. “Enough Leucivix.” He said no more to her, but asked instead, “The Romans. They are near you say?”

  “There were two columns. We fought and destroyed one two days north of here. We have not seen the second.”

  “Maybe they combined before they attacked you?” Leucivix offered.

  Caros blinked at that. “That may be.” He smiled at her and Vestivaxus. “That would definitely make life a little more pleasant.”

  The sun, slipping west, shone hazily through the blue smoke of cook fires in the center of the Gaelic village. Caros drank sparingly as the men and women around him drained tankards of the strong ale and consumed roasted boar. Gunurst and Azulay remained seated beside one another, not being fully fluent in the language of these Gauls. Caros noted they too had drunk little. The bones littered about the pair showed they had more than made up the shortfall by eating.

  “Better than horsemeat.” He grinned crookedly.

  Gunurst belched and wiped his greasy beard with an equally greasy hand. “Have not tasted better in a while.”

  Azulay picked meat from between his teeth. His belly round from the food he had consumed.

  A bellow of laughter from men clustered at the far side of the fire drew Caros’ attention. Maleric was in the center of a cluster of men and women, balancing an axe on his forehead, a tankard of ale in each of his out flung fists. Caros was impressed. He watched skeptically as Maleric gingerly lifted one tankard to his lips, drained it and then did the same with the second, all the while balancing the hand axe precariously on his head.

  “He is going to be a thing of wonder to ride with tomorrow.” Azulay commented drily.

  “In a way, he is home.” Caros felt envious. His own family was dead, and it felt like long years since he had lived at peace among the Bastetani people. His short reverie was halted by Vestivaxus.

  “Caros, a messenger for you.”

  Caros noticed the young Masulian behind the Gaul.

  “Rappo?”

  “Apologies for intruding. Lebita has moved the column to the south of the village and set up camp there.”

  “He did? Did he say why?”

  “He said it was a better place to be if the Romans came.”

  Caros smiled at Rappo. “Thank you. We will be along before nightfall.” Rappo backed away, but not before two laughing women had captured him in embraces, clearly entranced by his olive complexion and exotic features.

  Azulay stepped close to Caros. “The land south is not a good place to be. The men we sent around the village saw many waterfowl and other signs of marshland.”

  Vestivaxus spoke. “It is true, the land south is marsh only. Not the best place to spend a night.”

  Caros saw the Gaul’s face was troubled. He was no doubt imagining thinking of the burned villages to the north that Caros had spoken of.

  “There is still no sign of the Romans and in the morning we will leave.”

  Vestivaxus waved his reassurances away. “We are not afraid of the Romans. In any case, you wanted provisions?”

  Caros nodded.

  “Then by morning we will have these ready for you.” He grinned. “For the right price.”

  The sun was gone, and night was closing its fist over the countryside, bringing with it a swarm of biting insects. Pale mist was rising from the less than dry ground like vapors from a cauldron.

  Lebita was sitting beside a fire in a circle of his leading men when Caros rode into the camp. Dismounting, Caros took in the many warriors eating and resting around campfires dotted about a low hillock. He slapped at a mosquito, his hand coming away with its bloodied shape imprinted on his palm.

  He passed the rein of his mount to Rappo and gestured to Lebita.

  Azulay and Gunurst filed off to find their men. Maleric slurred something unintelligible and climbed stiffly from his mount before staggering away to sleep off the feast he had made of boar and ale.

  Lebita wore a look of mild indifference as he came over to Caros.

  He began to speak and Caros cut him off. “You moved the camp.” He spoke quietly, but there was an iciness in his tone that Lebita could not mishear.

  “Better the Romans find the settlement first.”

  “Yet we rode in here at dusk without sighting a single watch.” Caros stared unblinking at the Turdetani.

  “I… there is none.” Lebita frowned in frustration. “If the Romans attack, they will attack the settlement. We will be more than forewarned.”

  “You have placed us in a trap.”

  “Wha... ?”

  “Do you think we could escape from here if the Romans attack? South? It is marshland. Set your men to watch. Through the night. If you plan on traveling home in my company, you will discuss your thoughts with me and never countermand my orders.”

  The voices of warriors at the nearest fires had grown silent. The only sounds were those of Lebita breathing hard as his face grew darker.

  Caros stepped to within a hand’s breath of the man, smelled the odor of ale and meat, dust and sweat.

  “Is this clear Lebita son of Casyet?”

  A curt nod was the only answer the man could make.

  Caros turned and walked away, felling the burn of Lebita’s eyes scorching his back. Too bad. Caros wondered how Hannibal managed an army of people, many like Lebita.

  He found Azulay speaking to his Masulian riders. They had a single small fire burning and there was a sense of anger in the air. Azulay turned at the sound of Caro’s cloak brushing through the thick grass.

  “Lebita’s men will stand watch through the night.” He suddenly realized the Masulians were all dressed and ready to ride. Their small mounts grazed just beyond the circle of weak firelight.

  “What?” he asked Azulay.

  “This is a poor place to camp. The land is foul with djinn breath.” He gestured at the mist which had already risen to knee-height and hoisted a gob of spit into it. It hit the damp ground unseen.

  Caros nodded and mirrored the action. “Then be our eyes north of the village. At first light we will be there to pick up the provisions Vestivaxus has promised. After that, the sooner we are on our way back to New Carthage the better.”

  Azulay whistled softly and his mare nickered, coming to him. “We will be your eyes, but take care in this place.”

  Some marsh creature let out an ear piercing shriek somewhere in the night, raising the flesh up and down his back. Caros placed his hand on the hilt of the blade at his side. “We will. Till morning then.”

  Chapter 5

  They stood silent. Hands clapped over muzzles. Reins held tight. Even their breathing was shallow. From below, the enemy riders’ voices were low and their mounts’ hoofbeats steady. It seemed like they would never pass. Hidden in the shallowest of recesses in the hillside, the pair waited, sweat dripped from their brows and burned their eyes despite the early hour. The last sound of the enemy scouts faded into the pre-dawn dark. The older of the pair relaxed and breathed deeply through his prominent nose.

  “Close.” He spoke under his breath, still unnerved by the close encounter. “You have good hearing.” He winked at the younger man.

  “Fortuna smiled.” The rider released his mount’s muzzle. “Easy there.” He glanced at his fellow rider. “Head back before Fortuna has a change of heart?”

  “Our job is done. We know where the Carthaginian-loving scum have fled to. I feel a skin or two of wine is much deserved.” He lifted himself into his saddle.

  Emerging cautiously from the fold in the hill, they glanced about. Geese flying out of the east honked a farewell and wheeled gracefully southwards and to warmer lands. Nothing else moved.

  “They went west up that trail. We go the other way and then cut back to the camp.” His plumed helm bobbed as he gestured with his chin.

  The younger rider also had sharper eyes and he saw the riders first. There was bar
ely time to shout a warning.

  Within a heartbeat, four riders were bearing down on the two men caught flat-footed in the early dawn.

  “Bastards doubled-back! They are too many, flee!” The older man screamed. They fled, whipping the flanks of their mounts and driving them to greater speed. It was not enough. Riding at the rear, the older rider turned to see the enemy riders closing faster, already at full gallop.

  His eyes widened in surprise as the lead rider sprang lightly to his feet on the mount’s back. In the next instant, he hurled a spear. The throw was off, striking deep into the sweat-matted rump of the Roman’s horse instead of into his back. The horse stumbled, but fear and pain powered it on. The older man knew his race was over. He kept the horse running, gauging the terrain. Ahead of him, the younger rider who was already pulling ahead, turned.

  “Go! My horse is done!” He did not wait to see the other man’s reaction, but turned his mount and lifted his spear. The enemy riders were already practically on top of him.

  “Mars!” His mount neighed and lunged while he braced to drive his spear through the first of the four attackers.

  His sight dimmed, and he felt a piercing cold deep in his chest. His chin dropped and there, protruding from his chain mail was a quivering spear shaft. The next struck him in the ball of his shoulder and pain flared excruciatingly through his chest before fading to darkness. His body tumbled lifeless to the ground, his helm clattering across the trail and coming to rest with the bright red plume of horsehair crushed in the dirt.

  The village loomed large ahead. Behind, lay a lake of silver mist. Caros coughed and spat. The night had been grim, but a belly full of good meat had gone a long way to helping him sleep. Maleric looked none the worse for his overindulgence of the day before and was actually humming. Shaking his head, Caros turned his attention to the village. Dogs had come out to greet them with barks and yips. Of the Gauls, there was no sign other than smoke from a few early morning cook fires.

  Reining in before the closed gates, Caros called up at the bare palisade. No one returned his greeting and so he rode close enough to thump the gate with a hefty kick.

  “They must have drank on long after we left.” Maleric ventured regretfully.

  “The village! Awake! We have business with Vestivaxus!” Caros called, his voice ringing loud on the still morning air.

  Motion from the palisade above drew his attention. A man leaned over the palisade, his face a glare of annoyance. Caros recognized him at once.

  “Greetings Brunnod. We are here to collect and pay for our promised supplies.”

  The man hawked a gob of spit over his shoulder and cleared his nostrils. Rubbing his hand down the front of his leather vest, he regarded the warriors arrayed behind Caros.

  “Still early. Women are cooking for their kin.”

  “Vestivaxus agreed we would collect the supplies at sunrise.” Caros glanced at the sun already standing proud of the horizon. “That is now.”

  “Well Vestivaxus is not here. Likely he is bouncing on Leucivix’s belly. It would be impolite to interrupt such joy just so you can fill your bags with food.” His lips parted in a sneer. “So you wait and when he is ready, you will get your goods.” The Gaul dropped from sight and gruff laughter floated over the palisade wall.

  Maleric pursed his lips. “Brunnod is a thorn in Vestivaxus’ side and has many followers. It is likely he has turned them against us in the night and Vestivaxus has backed down.”

  Caros recalled how much time Maleric had mingled with the villagers the previous afternoon, drinking and showing off. Talking as well it seemed.

  He slammed his fist against the gate in mounting fury. Conscious of time draining away and the threat of being discovered by the Romans, he glared around at the waiting warriors. Their faces were gaunt with strain and constant hunger. More than a few cursed and spat at the village gates which remained shut and barred from within. He had no choice, but to wait and see if they could rescue some agreement with the Gauls. For it was sure they would not get far without food for the trail.

  “We would not be standing here, dicks in our hands if you had spent less time eating and drinking yesterday and done the trading then.” Lebita’s voice was scornful. Worse, there was a measure of truth in the words.

  There was a commotion within the village and Caros turned hopefully to the gate. The shouting died away though after a short while and the gates remained firmly shut.

  Caros had no time to feel disappointment for a cry of warning from one of his men just then had him spinning that way.

  Gunurst pointed. “It is Azulay. The Masulian gives the alarm. See there.”

  Caros glared to the east. Sure enough, Azulay and his riders were streaming towards the village across the patchwork fields, ploughing up a haze of hewn grass in their trail. Azulay himself held his left arm high, clenching three splayed spears in his hand. The Masulian three-spear signal for a dire threat.

  Caros’ heartbeat slowed and the anger in him bled away, replaced by a focused calm.

  He looked back at the gates. “We need those provisions. Keep hammering at the gates until they open. I will speak with Azulay.”

  The Masulian riders swarmed into a circle about Caros and Azulay, their voices loud with war cries.

  Azulay remained a center of calm as he spoke. They had slain a Roman scout while another managed to flee to the safety of a Roman camp.

  “Numbers?”

  “Fifty horse. More than twice as many on foot.” Azulay looked apologetic as he spoke.

  Caros blinked at the numbers. He knew he could trust the Masulian’s count. Better armed and undoubtedly better fed, the Romans would best them if they clashed.

  “Can we avoid them?” He asked the warrior.

  Azulay considered his answer. “They will slow us down with their horse. Their warriors, these legionaries, will be shaking their shields at us before dusk today I think.”

  Caros took a breath of air clogged with the sweet scent of harvested grains. Stay or flee.

  “We cut west and up out the valley? Is that possible Azulay?” Caros questioned.

  Azulay along with Maleric, Gunurst and Lebita stood in on the trail within view of the still sealed village. The Masulians were the column’s eyes and Azulay, their head man, would know the land better than any of the rest.

  “It is too steep beyond the tree line here, Caros. The horses would not be able to make the climb, neither any man with armor.”

  “South, we already know that path.” Lebita spoke although his voice was still thick with anger after the previous evening’s reprimand. The others hissed in unison. They knew nothing of what lay beyond the place they had slept the night before other than that it was marshlands and a likely death trap.

  Maleric offered his thoughts. “Seems then the only way out of this is to either stay here and fight or head north and break westwards where the valley allows.”

  “We would be heading towards the most likely route the Romans will be taking.” Caros threw his head back and growled at the cloudless blue above him. After defeating the Romans two days earlier, they had been exhausted, but certain they would escape further clashes. Now it seemed they were trapped.

  “Gunurst? Your thoughts?” Caros snapped.

  The Oretani shifted uncomfortably and glanced at Lebita. “South seems the only route still open unless we strike east and try to circle the Romans. They might not expect that.”

  No one spoke. Caros felt the weight of the decision on him and thought hard, scuffing the track with his ragged sandals.

  “You made friends here yesterday. Could you talk your way into the village?” he asked Maleric.

  “No doubt, but get them to change their minds? I am a warrior not a druid.” Maleric looked offended.

  “Not that. We need a man that knows the land south of here. There must be some that will know of trails through the marshes.”

  “Oh, that all?” Maleric shrugged his huge shoulders, “I can
try.”

  Caros looked at Lebita, daring him to smile. “While Maleric does this, we will make for last night’s camp.” He pulled a leather purse from within his tunic and dropped into Maleric’s hand. “Try to save a little.” Next, he fixed his gaze on Azulay. “The marsh may be the only way out of here. If you would prefer to travel a different path that is your right.” He grunted. “You know my high regard for you and your men.” He stopped.

  Azulay spat, looking insulted. “We will travel at your side Caros the Claw.”

  Maleric stepped through a side gate into the Gaelic village even as Gauls thronged the palisade walls and jeered the departure of their previous night’s guests.

  Caros rode at the head of the column, Azulay on one side and Gunurst the other, behind them followed Lebita and the Turdetani. The rest of the horsemen brought up the rear while the Masulians formed a wide ranging screen.

  Returned to their previous night’s campsite, they milled around, sharpening weapons, and sharing what little food they had left.

  Caros kept an eye on the sun while he watched the Masulians forge deeper into the marshland that stretched south. They returned time and again, horses coated in mud, riders shaking their heads. It seemed there might be no way forward.

  Midmorning passed at an agonizing pace. Caros began to look more closely at the lay of the ground. He looked to see how he could use the marsh to his advantage when the Romans arrived, but it always came to shields and he lacked enough to hold let alone prevail.

  His mood soured further then lifted like a hawk on the winds. Maleric had arrived. He brought with him two men, alike in their patterned trousers, bare chests and braided hair.

  Caros grinned as the trio trotted into the midst of the suddenly energized warriors. Each horse, bore a hefty pack tied behind the rider.

  “You wanted guides?” Maleric gave a wide smile. “Thought I may as well use the rest of your coin to get food as well.” He gestured to the Gauls, “Cunigni and his nephew Atestas hunt wildfowl in winter and tame horses in spring. They claim to know of paths to the south.”