Maharra Read online

  “Maybe he simply wants peace. No tribe has bested Hannibal since he became General in Command and news of the slaughter at Sagunt would make any wise chieftain pliant. You don’t think he plans to betray the treaty?”

  He could not say with certainty that the Aeronosii chieftain would. In fact, Aksel’s words rang true; it was more likely that Gualbes feared Hannibal would betray the treaty. Caros relaxed somewhat. “No, I don’t think so. That way would only end in the destruction of Olot and the death of Gualbes and many of his people.” Lanca appeared with a clean tunic. He thanked the boy and then to Aksel. “Adicran will need to send word to Hannibal of the treaty. Be sure to send a strong enough column to ensure brigands do not overwhelm them. Now come let us see how these Aeronosii ride.”

  Fires burned and meat roasted. Warriors lined the rocky ridges beside the racetrack and watched as young men pranced their mounts and displayed their skills. The Aeronosii warriors held one side while the Masulians and Libyans held the other. Somewhere men began beating drums, adding to the anticipatory air amongst the crowds.

  Caros watched as Aksel sat his mount beside a lithe Aeronosii rider mounted on a beautiful filly. The Iberian’s mount was deep chested, with sturdy hindquarters. Its predominantly red colouring flecked with darker patches. It was a strong horse, but it seemed unused to the tension it sensed and its rider had to circle her back and forth. In contrast, Aksel sat bolt upright and still as stone, his mount occasionally pawed the ground, but otherwise showed no nerves. Caros had no doubt that his friend would win and he confidently wagered a silver stater. Gualbes and Adicran stood side by side making small talk. Caros turned as a shadow fell beside him and his heart skipped a beat. Laia smiled at him. Just a whisper of a smile, but it touched her eyes.

  “Greetings, Caros of the Bastetani.”

  “Greetings, Laia.” His words tumbled and he coughed, embarrassed.

  She paused to give him a knowing look before looking at the riders. “You have wagered on the race? No doubt on the strange looking rider?”

  “I have. I feel sure he will win for I have never seen a better rider.”

  Perplexed, Laia’s forehead creased. “He does not use reins to guide his mount? How will he turn?

  “He is a Masulian. His people learn to ride almost as soon as they walk. Their horses are like faithful hounds and even when they are not riding, the mounts follow at their heels.” He smiled. “Though it is rare to see a Masulian walk much.”

  “The way he sits the horse; it is as though they were one body.” She looked at Caros, eyes sparkling. “Will you be racing?”

  Looking into her eyes, his heartbeat quickened and his cheeks flushed. “I will. My mare is a fine mount, but I fear not so fast. Still…”

  She flashed a smile at him. “You are modest. Most warriors would claim victory even before taking to their horses.”

  Caros shrugged. “I’d like to win, but given the quality of the horses your people own…” He shrugged again. Lanca dodged between two warriors and jogged up to Caros who smiled at him. “Little Lanca. Is your work done?”

  “Yes. I am to tell you the messengers are away.”

  “Good lad.”

  The boy smiled past him at Laia.

  “I know this boy Caros. His family is from my village.”

  “You know him?” Caros asked in surprise. “The gods smiled! I promised to reunite the boy with his family.” He saw tears form in Laia’s eyes as she knelt to speak rapidly to the child, her hands on his shoulders. Caros watched them as the boy related to her what had happened to him and his sister. Now tears fell from both her and the boy’s eyes and Caros took an uncomfortable step back. He saw Castrodubis watching with a scowl.

  “You saved his life!” Laia rose, lifting Lanca on her hip, her arms wrapped around him.

  Caros nodded, embarrassed at the emotions of boy and woman.

  “You are a good man. I shall see that he is returned to his family.”

  Chapter 7

  The riders were ready, as were the spectators. Gualbes motioned to a grey-haired warrior who raised his one remaining arm and thumped it down on the drum held between his knees. That was the signal and the young Aeronosii’s whoop echoed over the yelling audience.

  His mount sprang forward and within a heartbeat was pounding down the track, churning clods of earth high into the air. Behind him came Aksel, his lighter horse seemed to ripple and flow over the ground. As for the Masulian, he did not so much ride the horse as lean forward and flatten himself along the mount’s back, his tunic rippling in the wind and the mane of the horse merging with his flowing red turban. The big, hairy Aeronosii warriors roared with joy at the sight of their man leading by several lengths and going strong. Their fists pumped the air and they drummed their shields in excitement. The din they made sounded like a rockfall from the highest peaks. The Aeronosii knew how to ride and he knew his horse. He came to the post sunk into the ground at the far end of the track and with a quick check over his shoulder; he swung his mount in a wide turn that allowed the horse to retain its speed. He was on the final leg of the race and well ahead of Aksel. Now the Masulians stood. From their throats came the familiar ululations they used to express their excitement. They watched as Aksel raced his mount towards the post as though it were a mark and he and his mount the javelin. Many of the Aeronosii were already celebrating their comrade’s victory when Aksel reached the post. There was a collective intake of breath when he and his mount reached the post at full gallop. Dust billowed and the desert stallion spun, its body turning on itself in fluid motion. Its hooves drove into the ground and using all its untamed power, the mount leaped forward. The turn was executed in the time it took for the audience to gasp and even the Aeronosii roared with approval. Now Aksel had his lips at his horse’s ear and he raised his right hand away from his body. From it, fluttered a length of scarlet ribbon that whipped to a frenzy as his mount raced on. Caros’ eyes widened as he watched his friend gather in the distance behind the Aeronosii rider. It was as though the leading mount had stopped running so quickly did Aksel and his mount gain ground and then he was alongside the other and the warriors at the end of the track shouted themselves hoarse at the fast approaching horses. Neither was willing to lessen the pace and the Aeronosii mount stretched its stride gamely, but amidst the lather and dust the Masulian and his African horse pulled ahead to scatter the frenzied crowds.

  Caros shoved his way through the cheering warriors to where Aksel accepted the jubilant praise of his men. “Well done my friend!” He had to raise his voice above the noise of the excited warriors. Aksel smiled down at Caros, his dust covered face beaming. “I hoped you wagered silver on me, Caros!” he laughed.

  “I did and half the winnings are yours. That was a truly spectacular run. These Aeronosii are skilled riders, but you bested them!”

  Throughout the day, warriors raced and wrestled, drank and sang. Caros took his mare to the start line sometime in the afternoon and watched the rider he was to race, prancing his horse expertly in circles to the avid praise of warriors and women. He had to admit the horse looked spectacular and the well-preened rider was clearly of high rank. The Aeronosii were not generally known as gifted horsemen, but those among them that could afford horses knew how to ride well. Caros appraised the rider and his mount carefully. This would be a hard race to win, but he had faith in his mare. She had carried him far and had proved her mettle in battle. This would be a test of skill and timing.

  Gualbes stood between them and raised his arms. “From the south, Caros of the Bastetani will pit his mount against Izagirre of the Aeronosii.”

  Gualbes next words were drowned in the roar of approval from the Aeronosii. From the crowd’s reaction the Aeronosii rider was well favored. Izagirre had so far ignored him, but now caught his eye and inclined his head. Caros dipped his chin in acknowledgement. Whatever else, the man was courteous. The drum began to pound and Caros focused on the post at the far end of the track. Beneath him, h
is mare trembled and clipped the ground with her forefoot. Caros settled forward and braced himself. The drumbeat sounded faintly and then came the final echoing beat. Eyes fixed on the post, he kicked his heels and the mare sprang forward. In a moment, the thunder of a thousand cries fell over the valley and the beat of the mare’s hooves rose through his blood. His lips drew back as he sensed the Aeronosii close beside him, racing with the same urgency. The ground whipped past, warriors and women blurring. He shouted in exhilaration and slapped his palm across the mare’s rump. The post seemed to be rushing towards him and he concentrated on the upcoming turn. He sensed the Aeronosii still beside him, close enough to touch and he realized he did not have room to take the turn with the Aeronosii rider so tight at his side. He gritted his teeth and angled his mare to the right, trying to force the Aeronosii aside. The man’s stallion snapped at the mare as she closed on its shoulder and for just a heartbeat she flinched away. Izagirre and his mount pulled ahead by a full stride, then two. He was forced to skirt outside the path of the Aeronosii. He snarled and drove his mare forward and felt her heart along with his. There would be no giving away, no faltering. Instead of turning around the heels of the Aeronosii mount, he rode the mare hard at the stallion’s flank and his mare lashed out and bit back. The stallion rode harder and then the post was upon them. Caros drew the mare back and her rear dipped as her hooves cut into the ground, sending forth a cloud of dust. Izagirre was going too fast now and overshot the post a stride ahead of Caros. Beneath him the mare was bunching and turning, muscles coiled and ready to race to victory. The stallion would be on their heels, but Caros was confident he could stay ahead. The crowd pointed and a ripple surged through the onlookers. While still urging the mare at speed to the finish, Caros risked a look over his shoulder. The post was almost obscured by a cloud of dust and through it, Caros saw the stallion kicking itself to its feet and bolting after him. Caros had a fleeting view of the Aeronosii rider writhing on the ground before the stallion and the dust obscured his view. The thrill of victory soured, Caros pulled his mare up and turned her back. Already warriors were breaking from among the spectators towards the prone Aeronosii rider. Reaching him first, Caros slid from the mare’s back to kneel beside the man. Izigirre’s face was pale, his teeth clenched while his hands were wrapped tight above his knee. Hissing in pain, the man craned his neck to look down at his leg. Caros winced at the sight. A shard of living bone was visible through a tear in the braccae below the man’s knee. The lower leg had snapped in the fall. Such a break would kill him in days as the leg corrupted and turned black. This was not a fitting way for a man to die and Caros felt a surge of pity for the courteous warrior who had simply wished to win the race. Aeronosii warriors gathered around Caros and hissed at the sight of the injury. Men called for the healers and water and Caros was jostled aside. As he fell back, Izagirre smiled bravely through his pain. “Good riding, Bastetani! Perhaps next time.”

  Caros inclined his head before backing off to allow the man’s own to tend to him. He led his mare back to where Gualbes and his closest men sat with Adicran beneath a canopy. Aksel was standing and at his arrival, signaled a Masulian warrior to take and water the mare. “What of the Aeronosii rider? He seems badly injured?”

  Caros sat while a girl brought him a cup of ale. “Poor fortune there. He has snapped the bone below his knee.”

  Gualbes grunted and spat. “That is a sore loss. Izagirre is a fine warrior, his clan is strong, but his son is too young to lead them. It will be led instead by one of his uncles, none of whom is as gifted.”

  Adicran clucked his tongue. “He rode well. Until the turn I thought he would take the race.”

  Gualbes nodded at Caros. “I too thought Izagirre would win, but you bested him at the turn. You ride well and your mare has battle sense.”

  Caros shrugged, despite the pity he felt for the Aeronosii he knew he had ridden well and was proud of his mare. “I will make a gift to Izigirre’s clan and a sacrifice to Endovex.” It would have been ungracious not to do so.

  Gualbes gave a nod of acceptance and turned at a call. Laia came up the path, long stalks of dry grass brushing her dress against her figure and her hair glowing in the afternoon sun. Caros felt his blood warm as he watched her approach.

  She spoke before Gualbes greeted her. “Izigirre’s leg is bad, Gualbes. His death journey will be a hard one and his brother Fes, is angry.”

  Gualbes frowned and shrugged. “Fes is always angry.”

  Laia’s eyes flitted across to Caros. “He is talking of a blood-debt. You need to speak to him; calm him down.”

  Gualbes looked over at Caros who was roughly following the Aeronosii dialect. “He is an idiot. The Bastetani has already volunteered to make amends and offer sacrifice.”

  Laia looked at Caros, her eyes wide with concern. “It is not for him to make such an offer. He was not to blame for the accident any more than the warriors cheering from hillside. Did you accept this?” Her voice rose a notch as she spoke to Gualbes who got to his feet, his face grim. His arm moved so swiftly that at first Caros had not realized what the sudden crack was and then Laia was staggering, her cheek burning red and her eyes swimming from the backhand blow.

  “You forget yourself, woman. The Bastetani made the offer. I accepted it.”

  Caros found himself on his feet, his hands bunched in anger. Adicran was at his side in a heartbeat, a vice-like grip on his shoulder. In a low growl, the Libyan warned Caros. “She is his woman. You do nothing!”

  Aksel took Caros by the other shoulder and turned him bodily away from the Aeronosii, but not before Gualbes noticed his anger. Caros’ fury burned bright and the chieftain’s lips twisted in a sneer as he walked away toward the village, his warriors following. Castrodubis remained, arms folded and face unreadable while Laia knelt, her shoulders heaving with silent sobs. Caros looked at Aksel and Adicran, both men uncomfortable beyond measure in the presence of the weeping woman. Adicran began to hustle Caros back to their pavilion when Aksel spoke. He used a mixture of Greek and what little Aeronosii he had learned in the past day. Caros shrugged off the Libyan’s hands and turned to listen. Aksel stood before Castrodubis, undaunted by the warrior’s bulk. “What is the meaning of this blood-debt? Why is the woman so distraught by the offer my friend has made?”

  For heartbeats the Aeronosii stared coldly at Aksel and just when Caros thought he would not respond he shifted and looked at Caros. “They have called for a blood-debt. You surely understand this?”

  Caros frowned and Adicran winced. Aksel stepped back and looked to Caros, his forehead furrowed in confusion.

  The answer came from Laia. “A life for a life. If Izagirre dies, his family will kill you to redeem their honor.”

  Adicran stepped forward angrily. “They do that and Gualbes will receive our iron instead of our silver.”

  Castrodubis bent and gently lifted Laia to her feet cradling her against his massive chest, a muscular arm enfolding her. “We must beseech the gods and ones who came before to spare Izigirre’s life then.” He turned and walked the chieftain’s wife back to Olot, leaving behind three pairs of troubled eyes.

  “He seems a little more familiar with her than just a bodyguard.” Adicran reflected aloud.

  Aksel cursed and spat. “What kind of people call a blood-debt over such an incident. It is…” He trailed off at a loss for words.

  Caros’ mind spun at the implications. Would Gualbes risk a treaty over a ludicrous demand like this blood-debt? Castrodubis’ words rang in his ears and he turned to Aksel. “We need to speak to Rual.”

  Aksel scratched his chin. “I was thinking this as well. He is with the burial party and they are due back tomorrow.”

  “Who is Rual?” Adicran asked bewildered.

  “A skilled healer. He has tools and skills acquired in Alexandria. I have seen him set bones to heal many times.”

  Adicran chewed his lip a moment. “It’s worth a try. I will speak with Gualbes. Caros you stay
at the pavilion out of sight.” He rubbed his hands over his face and blew out a long breath in frustration. “The gods are surely having a long laugh at our expense today.” He turned to Aksel. “Take all your column with you.” Confused Caros and Aksel looked in surprise at Adicran who smiled. “I think things might get a little tense before we leave here and I want the Aeronosii unsure where the Masulians are.”

  “So many riders will slow us down and we want to return with Rual before sunrise.”

  Caros grunted as he sensed Adicran’s thoughts. “Only Rual needs to return. The rest of you remain hidden in the hills.”

  Adicran smiled grimly. “Let us hope it’s not necessary.” He turned back to Olot, his shoulders set.

  At the pavilion, Caros called for Lanca before realizing the boy was now with Laia. A slave approached instead and Caros instructed him to fetch his armour. Bobbing his head fervently, he retreated inside the pavilion to do as ordered. Caros grimaced at the fear the emanating from the man. Slavery was not a general practice amongst Iberians. Captives taken in battle were often released within a season or two unless they were women; in which case they would usually already be with child and would be kept as members of the clan.

  The Masulians were breaking camp and their shouts and urgency lent a desperate air to the late afternoon. They were fortunate the sun still hung a hand’s breadth above the western hills. They would have time to disappear into the hills before dark. The slave appeared with Caros’ armour. “Your armour master. Your sword is beside your sleeping mat.” It was taboo for a slave to handle a weapon. While strapping on his armour, Aksel rode up, his shield secured to his arm and a quiver of javelin hanging from his shoulder. The Masulian looked pointedly at Caros’ armour and nodded in approval. “I will return soon my friend and then we will put this business behind us.” He flicked his wrist and then the Masulians were streaming away down the valley and to the western burial tombs.

  Dust settled as the drumbeat of their many hooves faded and the camp fell silent around him. The camp followers clustered in the shade beneath some wiry trees, their voices little more than a murmur. A warhorn bleated its trumpet call across the valley and Caros felt his skin turn cold. The camp followers’ eyes grew round with fright and the Libyan warriors ran to the centre of the camp, shields and swords clanging. More warhorns sounded from the walls of Olot. A small band of horsemen galloped from the gates, ignored the camp and turned west, trailing the Masulians. Caros stared as a larger force emerged from Olot. They came fast and straight at the small camp.