Warhorn Page 8

  “Ah, the question!” Gualam exclaimed knowingly. “As you can see most of the riders are strangers to these lands. My king has hired these men to bolster our defences and we ride north to get a feel for commanding them and to learn their abilities, strengths and weaknesses.” Gualam leaned back a little and wiped his already washed hands over his cloak. Caros nodded in acceptance, but he suspected what he had heard was a half-truth. The man’s body language fairly said it all. He had distanced himself from his own words by leaning back and then unconsciously wiped the lie from his hands. A few years trading with crusty Greeks and Carthaginians had taught Caros to look beyond the words.

  “Where do these horsemen come from?” He nodded in the direction of the many campfires from where the babble of foreign tongues could be heard.

  Drasal fielded the question. “Mauritania, they are Masulians. I was lucky enough to be captured ten years ago by a raiding vessel from that coast. An old Phoenician Captain turned pirate. Set himself up as a king at a little oasis on the coast and then went looking for plunder. I made myself useful and in time he made me his household guard. I got to know the local people’s language and customs. Two years ago the old man killed himself servicing one of his new young wives. What a way to go, eh?” The men chuckled, their imagination painting the picture. Drasal continued after a moment’s reminiscing. “After that, the place fell apart. The captain had no heirs and everybody wanted to take his place, but nobody had the balls to. The chief of the local people rode in one day and carried off everything of value before torching the place.” Drasal smiled. “I foresaw what would happen and was half way to the Pillars of Hercules by then.”

  Gualam nodded as though confirming the tale. “Drasal mentioned that the warriors from across the sea would make half decent horsemen when our King wanted to increase our forces.” He scowled at Drasal. “So far I’m just happy we have larger numbers. As far as actual fighting ability... well frankly, I will need plenty of convincing.”

  Caros was intrigued that these men had come to fight for King Aps of Malaka, but why did the king of Malaka require such a force?

  Before he could consider the question any deeper Gualam rose. “Consider my offer Caros. You would join the ranks, but I’d wager you’d be a Captain before long which means a greater share of the spoils and there’ll be plenty of that soon. Now I’m going to check on how deeply our guards sleep before I chance my throat closing my eyes!” Drasal joined him and the pair disappeared into the night. Caros lay back and settled his head on his pack with his coat pulled up to his chin.

  Neugen stirred the dying fire for some moments before speaking. “Well, are you going to join them?”

  Caros looked over to Neugen hunched by the fire. “Something is happening that they have not told us.” He shook his head. “No, I plan to go on to Baria tomorrow. My father has a warehouse there and I need to let his man there know what has happened. Then I want to get some decent clothes and food before heading back home.”

  “Did you never consider Gualam’s offer then?” Neugen asked, sounding bewildered.

  “Would you Neugen? Would you join this host?”

  Neugen poked the fire for a moment. “I might have. He did not make the offer to me though.” He sounded a little aggrieved by this. “I guess I would not have either. I mean, I fight for Alugra after all and that is my place and where my sword brothers are.” He sighed in frustration and tossed the smouldering stick into the fire before slumping to his back and staring into the smoky night sky.

  Caros rolled onto his side and propped up his chin, “Hey cheer up, five days ago you were slogging up and down the mountains on foot, now you are a mounted warrior with a spare mount. Not the least prosperous campaign for you lately I would bet!”

  “You’re right!” Neugen laughed his naturally positive attitude reasserting itself.

  “I’ll stay with you till you get home and then get back up to Tagilit and see where Alugra has gone next if anywhere. He is growing old and is less and less likely to go campaigning these days.”

  Caros nodded in understanding. No campaigns left a warrior little to look forward to by way of plunder. “Still, there is Alfren.” Caros thought of the surly Captain and his fierce attitude and hunger for battle. “Alugra will most likely use Alfren more and more to lead campaigns and from what you tell me and what I saw Alfren will not tolerate a season with no campaigning.”

  Neugen nodded thoughtfully in the dark, “You tell it right I think. Alfren is hungry for battle. I could do worse than stick close by him.”

  The following morning Caros and Neugen rose quietly amidst the clatter of the waking camp. The Iberian horse Captains were up and urging on the Masulian warriors with their early morning meals and ablutions. Both Gualam and Drasal were already up and their horses readied to leave. They were bawling out to warriors throughout the camp to shit and ride. Neugen and Caros looked at one another meekly. Already they felt like outsiders here. They hustled down to the stream where they had washed the night before. The water was dirt filled and muddy from the watering horses and ablutions of the hundreds of men. They eyed it suspiciously and then turned away in disgust.

  “Saur’s dogs, it tastes like one of these fellows took a dump in my mouth last night.” Neugen complained.

  Caros hitched a thumb over his shoulder at the sewage filled stream, “Hair of a dog then!” They both laughed.

  “To Baria then my friend. Let’s just say farewell to our good Commander Gualam and his trusty Captain.” Caros was feeling good and looking forward to the day ahead.

  CHAPTER 6

  THE TOWN OF BARIA SPRAWLED on a low rise north of the Zakarra River whose estuary mouth fed into the Inland Sea. The town itself was enclosed in sturdy walls of stone and overlooked the small harbour. Within the defences were the dwellings of the rich, the merchants and the artisans. The walls also enclosed a small barracks that housed the city guard. Beyond the walled city lay scattered settlements and most importantly, the harbour with its single quay. Around the harbour were assorted warehouses, cantinas and an open square that served as a market for local traders. Caros and Neugen bypassed the walled city and rode instead to the harbour.

  They had barely left the camp of the previous night before they were on the outskirts of Baria. Caros had said a quick farewell on finding Gualam amongst his men.

  The graybeard had glanced distractedly at Caros for a moment when he had ridden up to say farewell. “I swear they would sleep here till they turned to turds rather than get astride their mounts.” His eyes narrowed. “So, you are off are you? Still set on being a merchant. Anytime you change your mind, come find me. I will be wherever there are a lot of lazy shit Masulians lounging about.” Gualam directed the last remark at a group of Masulians who glared back at him while kicking dirt over their cooking fire.

  Caros took his cue to leave and he and Neugen turned north to the walls of Baria. Just as they had reached the road that led to Baria, a drumming of hoof beats drew their attention. Drasal was approaching with two other riders, very obviously Masulians. Caros lifted an eyebrow to Neugen who shrugged.

  “Ho, Caros! You decided against Gualam’s offer. A pity that. We could use more men like you.” His eyes included Neugen which made the tracker sit straighter. The two men with Drasal brought their mounts to a halt, facing Caros. They were wiry men with copper-colored skin with a sun-dried appearance. Their clothing was a uniform mustard colored tunic with a red sash tied about their waists. A length of linen, also red, was wrapped in an intricate pattern to cover their heads. The older of the two Masulians edged his horse towards Caros. The skin of his face where it showed under a wispy beard, was deeply lined and his black hair was streaked with silver above his ears. Piercing green eyes fastened on Caros. Drasal began to speak when much to Caros’ surprise, the Masulian threw up a hand, curtly silencing the man. With a sullen frown, the Captain closed his mouth.

  Neugen, ever alert, edged his horse closer to Caros, but the Masulian
ignored him. It was clear from his easy authority that the Masulian was a leading man. He had the kind of presence that caused others step back and take their cue from him.

  “It is good that we meet. I am told your name is Caros.” It was not a question. “I am Massibaka. I am also told that you fought for honor and to revenge a great loss. My clan brothers and I were there to witness your final revenge. It was as it should be.”

  The man’s voice had a compelling accent. While Bastetani Iberian was clearly not his mother tongue, he nevertheless spoke it well. Caros was spellbound and did not interrupt. The Masulian named Massibaka paused then, still studying Caros intently. His companion passed a wrapped object to Massibaka.

  “I wish to offer you a gift. It is a thing of custom and honour amongst our people.” For the first time, the Masulian took his eyes off Caros and looked at the small object in his hand. He nodded and presented it with his right hand, his left hand held the wrist of right in a sign of respect.

  Caros hesitantly received the object. It was light and easily fitted in his hand. He lifted the leather wrapping away to reveal an obsidian rock the size of a hen’s egg. This was hollowed and within this hollow was fixed a startlingly white figurine.

  It was a statuette of a lynx-like beast. Caros had never seen such a strange creature before and the intricate carving was exceptional. The amulet was attached to a silver chain. The chain alone was worth many staters. He glanced up in confusion, but before he could speak, Massibaka continued.

  “We of the Baka’Masulian offer you your war-name.” Caros noticed that beyond Massibaka, many of the Masulians had gathered. They sat their horses in silence as Massibaka spoke the words.

  “You shall be known amongst the Baka’Masulians as Claw, Caros the Claw.”

  Caros gaped wide-eyed at the man. Being bestowed with a war name was a thing of great honor for a warrior. Caros shifted uncomfortably on his mount, unsure that he deserved a war name, although he did rather like the prowess the name implied. As he grappled with his thoughts, a sibilant hissing rose. The Masulian numbers had grown and now their many throats issued the sound and then as one they shouted, “The Claw!”

  Caros was still fingering the amulet hanging from his neck when they entered the narrow streets of Baria. Here they encountered the usual early morning traders, unloading their wares in the square. Farmers hawking produce straight off deep-sided wagons. Fishermen with their morning catch bartering with boisterous fishmongers. Gulls floated on the breeze blowing to sea and screamed raucously as they dived to eat their fill of entrails gutted from freshly caught fish. The town guards doggedly walked the cobbles streets, killing their final hour on watch.

  Caros knew the area and walked his horse down a narrow street to a part adobe, part wooden warehouse on the northern side of the harbour. The sun had risen and cast a golden aura over the warehouse. Outside the barred doors two guards sat on a wooden bench and leaned their backs comfortably against the walls. They looked to be asleep, legs stretched before them, feet crossed at the ankles. At at the sound of the horses approaching over the rocky street, their eyes snapped open. Caros recognized both men and recalled their names from previous visits to the warehouse. The pair rose confidently, spears held loosely. Caros dismounted at the doors to the warehouse and signalled to Neugen to do the same.

  “Is that you, Caros?”

  “Greetings, Tasos. Ho, Lipthios. It is I.”

  “What has happened?” The warrior named Tasos eyed Caros’ soiled clothing.

  Ignoring the question, he asked. “What time will Marc be here?” Marc was the foreman employed by his father to maintain the Baria warehouse.

  Tasos frowned, “Not till maybe noon. He was here till late last night. The last of the ore was sold off yesterday together with the weapons. He spent the better half of last night counting up before locking up.”

  The merchant in Caros awoke. “What were the sales like?”

  Tasos beamed a wide grin, “Sold the lot. There isn’t a piece of ore or a copper pin left. The buyers were all over him to sell. They would have bought the nails out of the beams if Marc had offered them.”

  Caros was amazed. They had filled the warehouse barely a month ago and had expected to sell the ore in consignments over the next season. Tasos went on, “That’s going to be good news for your father. Remember us to him when he gives out bonuses.” The man’s big smile faltered at the look that crossed Caros’ face.

  “My father is no longer with us. He, my mother and Ximo were killed by Arvenci in a raid just days ago.”

  Both Tasos and Lipthios swore furiously, faces growing dark. “This is dire news, Caros. There are raiders are everywhere these days, but your father...” Lipthios shook his head.

  “That is why I am here. Can one of you show us up to Marc’s home in the town?”

  “I will. Have you heard what has happened in Sagunt?”

  Caros frowned. “No, we have been hunting Arvenci in the hills for days.”

  Tasos nodded in understanding. “There are plenty of rumours, but it seems that there has been a revolt. The Carthaginians citizens there have been murdered, their property has been looted. A galley limped in day before yesterday. Many of the crew were injured, and they were barely afloat under the numbers of women and children onboard. They were fleeing Sagunt and told us of the murders.”

  Caros was horrified. He had known families in Sagunt. He glanced at Neugen who was standing tense and caught the gleam in the man’s eyes. Battle lust.

  Overcoming his shock, he gestured up to the town walls. “Come on, I need to speak with Marc.” He turned to the second guard. “Lipthios, would you mind watering and stabling the horses?”

  “Of course.” The man nodded.

  They followed Tasos uphill through narrow lanes created haphazardly between leaning buildings. Very quickly they ascended from the harbour to the walls of Baria and the town gate. After a short exchange between the guards there, the small gate was hauled open for them. A short while later Tasos drew up outside a large adobe and timber home. Caros thanked him and sent the guard on to his home. He then knocked loudly on the thick oak door. In response, shutters were thrown open up and down the cobbled lane and worried faces peered out at Neugen and himself.

  Neugen grabbed his arm. “Hold. You have probably frightened them out the back by now!” he hissed in Caros’ ear.

  Caros growled briefly before relaxing. “All right. I need to speak to my father’s man though. He will know what is going on.”

  “Look around. These folks look terrified. Probably all the rumours from Sagunt.”

  Caros stepped out into the lane and noted a partly open shutter above the door. Directing his voice at it he yelled, “Marc, it is Caros, son of Joaquim. I know you are home. Tasos escorted us up here, let us in!”

  The shutter flew open and a hairy face appeared followed by a set of shoulders fit for a bull. “Caros! Saur’s dogs, you scared the shades out of us! I will be down in a moment.”

  Caros smiled as the brute of a man withdrew into the room behind the tiny window. Marc was a man who lived large, lived hard and did not dance around the truth. As a boy, Caros had been terrified of the mountainous man, despite all his father’s assurances that Marc was one of the gentle giants. Marc had initially ignored the boy except to ruffle his hair occasionally. He had been a younger man then and apart from being polite to the son of his employer, probably cared not a fig for the boy. Yet the day Caros had wandered away from his father during another monotonous business deal, it had been Marc who had saved his life.

  His father and Marc were sitting together outside a quiet tavern with four merchants from some distant place. Caros had been playing with clay figurines his father and brother had made for him. Horses, if he remembered correctly. He did not remember why, but suddenly the toys lost their appeal and he had strayed off. The harbour wall was just across a rough cobbled road along which thronged every sort of man, woman and beast. Caros had stopped at the tide
of towering adults and then turned and followed them, inadvertently wandering further out of sight of his father.

  In his memory he had taken barely two or three paces when a shadow fell over him. A huge, bristle-bearded man with blue dye colouring his face in whorls, loomed above him. Caros could still remember the way the blue had erupted from the regular swirls in errant flows, following the blood vessels of the man’s skin. The man’s breath was rank and smelled of every life the monster had claimed. He sucked in a lungful of that putrid stink, preparing to give vent to a terrified scream, when suddenly the monster leered and clamped a calloused palm over his mouth and nose. In a heartbeat, Caros felt himself swung skyward and then he was just another piece of baggage over the man’s shoulder as he strode off.