Rise of the Spears

by J Glenn Bauer

  A black frown creased Orissus’ brow for a heartbeat. “You have a true warrior heart, Lyda.” He smiled thinly as he turned his back on her and called to his leading men, rallying them to him.

  The Oretani horsemen flooded down the hillsides to the east of the enemy camp. Four hundred horsemen whipping their sturdy mounts to a fast gallop. Hard on their heels, a thousand spearmen charged.

  Lyda stood beside her companions on the ridgeline in the first ranks of the bulk of the Oretani spears and watched as Orissus led the horsemen. The enemy reacted slowly, stunned into gawping inaction.

  A hundred warhorns resounded from around her and the massed Oretani surged over the ridgeline, making for the centre of the enemy lines three hundred paces from them.

  In a tight cluster among the howling Oretani, Lyda and the Bastetani warriors loped down the hill, making for the campsite of the Gauls. Her hope was that in the past days the Herb Queen had located Dubgetious and could tell her where to find him. If the young woman still lived.

  There was a sudden throb of heavy drumming and heartbeats later she saw the enemy lines shift. They were turning to face the onrushing Oretani. Orissus’ horsemen were galloping hard at the knot of men in the field outside the town walls. The spearmen following the riders were struck by arrows and spears, but ran on resolutely. Their role was to hold the enemy ranks only as long as it took for the horsemen to run Hamilcar down and kill or capture him.

  A great bellowing roar exploded from a hundred throats as the first Oretani warriors clashed with the main army. The impact of shields and blades followed, drumming and ringing across the valley.

  Lyda lost sight of Orissus and his horsemen as she reached level ground and her view was blocked by lines of rotting hide tents, lean-tos and mounds of waste. She lifted her shield, seeing the first figures of the enemy ahead of her.

  “Lyda!” Tucsux shouted. “On your right!”

  She was focused on the loose line of warriors scattered among the tents and wagons. Turning at Tucsux warning, she saw another group of warriors gathered behind a large wagon. They were twenty paces away and crouched low. Seeing they had been noticed, they let loose a shrill war cry and lifted their bows, bringing the nocked arrows to bear on her and the Bastetani warriors.

  She hissed and dropped to a knee, lifting her round shield to cover her chest and ducking her head. The enemy archers let loose their arrows which whipped towards her. An arrow slammed into her shield, sending a jolt through her shoulder while another hissed past her forehead. A solid impact behind her signalled a hit and the body of a warrior crashed to the ground almost on her heels. She gasped and turned, fearing it was Tucsux that had been struck. It was a Bastetani warrior from her village, but not the hard warrior she had fought so often beside. The man’s eyes were wide, blinking furiously. The feathered end of an arrow protruded from his throat, its barbed end buried in the dirt at his neck. Frothing blood welled from his mouth and gushed through his beard. His blinking ceased and he stared with unseeing eyes at the sky. Fearsome battle rage consumed her and she howled her war cry.

  Springing forward, she raced towards the group of archers, her spear held underhand, ready to tear into the enemy. Her fellow warriors were beside her, their bellows deafening. The archers were nocking arrows, hands shaking. A youth with not a hair on his face, fumbled his arrow, dropping it at his feet. Beside him, a graybeard cursed the boy and lifted his bow, arrow nocked. The graybeard aimed it at Lyda and released.

  In the next instant, she was in his face, her spear buried deep in his gut. His arrow had split the skin under her shoulder and passed on to bury itself in the shield of the warrior at her back.

  Lyda twisted the spear and punched her shield into the graybeard, driving him off the spear which tore from his body, releasing a gush of warm fluid that splattered her legs and filled her sandals.

  The archers broke, the youth leading the retreat, his bow left lying in the mud, arrows scattered.

  Panting hard, Lyda pulled up and called to her warriors to hold although none were keen to chase the archers into the maze of tents.

  Tucsux hurled a spear overhand, sending it spinning through the smoke-filled air into the back of the rearmost archer. He growled and kicked a dying man in the jaw, sending blood and teeth splattering across the ground.

  “Tucsux! We make for the Gaul’s camp.” Lyda shouted, bringing the battle mad warrior around.

  He flexed his fists and took a breath. Oretani warriors were rampaging through the lines of tents, howling like shades released from the dark. There was a deeper hum of battle raging to their right, beyond the tent lines where the main fighting forces had met.

  Cenos appeared, blood covering her face, her left ear ragged and bleeding down her neck. Despite the wound, she was grinning.

  “Felt good gutting them!” She raised her bloodied spear high and whooped.

  Lyda grinned back and nodded. “The Gauls will be harder to kill.”

  Cenos’ smile only widened. “They will die today same as they did when they tried to kill us in the dark.”

  They jogged steadily through the lines of abandoned tents, making for the Gaul’s tents. It was likely that many of the Gauls would be in the lines of Hamilcar’s army, fighting for their lives against Orissus’ many Spears. There would be others that remained to guard their possessions though. Lyda invoked her gods, praying that the Herb Queen was still alive. That Dubgetious was safe.

  A spear cleaved into a Bastetani on her far left, thrown by a warrior perched on an overturned wagon. Lyda growled and hurled her own spear and saw it bite deep into the man’s thigh. Two more spears thudded into him, throwing him from the wagon.

  “That was an Oretani warrior!” Cenos snarled.

  Lyda drew her sword, a poor thing, pitted with rust. Also a gift from Orissus. As she did, a band of Oretani charged from beyond the wagon, screaming their war cries and hurling their spears.

  The Bastetani batted at the spears with their shields, knocking them aside. They then charged with Tucsux leading the way. The warrior had grabbed up a discarded spear and had it balanced at his side.

  The Oretani charging them were of the worst kind. Wearing simple uncured skins, their hair knotted with bones and skin daubed with coloured clay, they were little more than the savage hill warriors who held scant regard for honour or oath.

  Tascux punched his spear into the first’s face, taking off his jaw and dropping him thrashing to the ground. Then Cenos was amongst them, her powerful shoulders absorbing impacts against her shield while driving her spear into warm flesh.

  Lyda, growling and spitting, struck. A wiry woman hacked at her with a metal tipped club. Lyda swayed beneath the swipe and plunged her blade into the woman’s gut below her naval. Whipping the blade out, she kicked the staggering woman in the knee and opened her neck as she fell. The fight lasted no more than a dozen heartbeats. A frenzy of stabbing and screaming. The Bastetani were reduced to eight men and women. The band of Oretani lay dead.

  “Many more like them and we will not survive to fight the Gauls.” Cenos gasped, her face white.

  Tucsux took her arm and helped her to stand upright. Fresh blood glistened on her tunic, a raw wound gaping below her breast.

  Lyda, an immeasurable sadness heavy on her soul, wiped her sword clean and sheathed it. Taking up a spear from a dead companion, she tapped the head to test its strength.

  “The Gauls’ camp is along the line. Stay in the thickest of the smoke and try to avoid any more beasts like these.”

  Chapter 19

  The morning dawned fresh, with a bright sun warming the tired camp and lancing golden rays through the smoke from a hundred campfires. Already, the army was up; the warriors filled with a sense of impending victory.

  Dubgetious, revitalised after a few hours of sleep once he had been relieved of sentry duty, spent time honing and polishing his sword. His tent mates eyed the heavy blade and grinned at his efforts.

  “It looks like a pre
gnant adder.” A wiry warrior quipped.

  “Bites like one too.” Dubgetious threw back. “Want to feel?”

  Men laughed and nodded, spitting on their own blades and polishing them to a shine. A bellow from down the line got their attention and they sprang to their feet.

  Amma, their leading man, was striding up the line of tents, slapping them with a gnarled stave, showering the occupants with the heavy dew that hung from the hides.

  “Looks like something is happening at last.” Dubgetious remarked.

  “Get your armour on and form lines!” Amma called. “Today we take that cursed town!”

  Cheers grew as the news travelled and warriors poured onto the fields around the town walls. Dubgetious found himself and his tent mates lined up facing the town gates some two hundred paces away. Men joked and laughed, their eyes wide and lips dry. Dubgetious saw men touching amulets and invoking their gods. Spotting a mound of rocks lifted from the fields by Oretani farmers in seasons past, Dubgetious climbed to the top to get a look over the heads of his fellows. The army formed a crescent moon of blades facing the town. The Libyans occupied the centre. Gauls held the west flank and Turdetani the east. A forest of spears swayed above a carpet of polished chest plates and helmets.

  A ripple of movement proceeded from the Carthaginian pavilion and presently he saw Hamilcar striding through the lines of warriors, a handful of leading men keeping pace with him.

  The Carthaginian general strolled casually to the front of his army and stopped to stare at the gates of the Oretani town. The squeal of wood and grinding of the gates dragging over the rocky road rose as they were hauled open. Four men walked slowly through the gates and stopped to stare at the massed army. Two servants rushed past them carrying benches which they set equidistant between the town and Hamilcar’s army. The men walked slowly forward to stop beside the benches. They wore tunics and cloaks. No blades among them, nor armour of any kind. The warriors around Dubgetious groaned and cursed, knowing now that it would be a long morning of waiting in lines as Hamilcar thrashed out a treaty with the town elders. There would be no looting and plunder this day.

  Hamilcar took his time exchanging pleasantries with warriors down the line. The Carthaginian ignored the waiting delegation and came closer, smiling and laughing with his men. He looked up, just paces from where Dubgetious stood elevated above the other warriors. The burly general grinned at him.

  “Greetings, young Bastetani! How look our Oretani friends? Anxious no doubt!” He laughed confidently and finally turned and made his way to the waiting delegation followed by three leading Carthaginian advisors.

  Dubgetious yawned and turned on the rocks, taking in the low hills surrounding the town and valley in which Hamilcar had set his besieging army. A band of Masulians came thundering over a low hill to the east, no doubt expecting battle and arriving in haste. Their numbers swelled until half a thousand riders were in sight.

  He had to squint into the early morning light to make out the horsemen more clearly. The leading riders passed through shade cast by towering pines on a far hill and Dubgetious’ brow creased with confusion. They did not have the look of Masulians. Their horses were larger, their spears longer. As they neared, he heard their shouts and cold certainty struck him.

  “We are attacked!” He yelled, pointing. Others were watching the horsemen with bored curiosity. The riders’ numbers were insignificant in the face of Hamilcar’s army and so were dismissed as unthreatening.

  “Fool! They are Masulians. No enemy, so outnumbered would attack.” Came the general response.

  Dubgetious leaped from the rocks and grabbed at Amma who stood silent and alert.

  “They are attacking! Not us, but Hamilcar!” Dubgetious pointed at their exposed general in the centre of the cleared field.

  “The bastards! You are right!” The Libyan cursed and shouted for the drums to beat the alarm.

  “Look!” Dubgetious cried. Warriors now surged from the hills, running behind the riders. A thousand at least. Still the Punic drums remained silent.

  The horsemen swept off the hills and galloped hard across the face of the startled Turdetani warriors on the right flank. Amma growled with frustration.

  “The fools do nothing but stand and watch!” He spun on his heel and drew his sword. Raising it, he bellowed at the top of his voice for his warriors to step forward. “You too, Dubgetious.”

  Dubgetious joined the lines of Libyans who began to advance towards their general. The advance was uneven though, with the warriors on the far flanks taken by surprise and hurrying to catch up and straighten the ranks.

  The horsemen closed the distance to Hamilcar who was now standing and gesturing angrily with his arm towards the oncoming riders. Dubgetious could hear the yells of the riders and feel the vibrations of their galloping horses through the soles of his sandals. He doubted very much that they would be in time to head off the horsemen. Was this the treason Amma had warned him of? Was this what Hannibal and the man from Sucro had been plotting? Dubgetious shook his head. No, they had mentioned the tablet of peace. This was not the work of a son such as Hannibal.

  “We are too slow!” He grumbled.

  “Stay in line. This is no time to rush like hounds to bitches.” An older warrior advised him sternly.

  The Turdetani had finally roused themselves, but already the enemy riders were beyond them. The following spearmen were not though and the ranks of levied Turdetani surged towards these.

  Shouted commands and curses reached Dubgetious and he snatched a look over his shoulder to see a party of Carthaginian horsemen pushing their way through the Libyan ranks. He recognised the foremost rider. Hannibal, Hamilcar’s son. The Carthaginian had five riders with him, two Carthaginians and three Masulians. They slapped their spears at the warriors blocking their path, cursing them and knocking them aside with their mounts. Hannibal’s horse baulked when a drummer belatedly began to beat the advance from nearby. As Dubgetious gasped, the horse reared wildly. Hannibal’s eyes locked with his as the mount rose high on its rear legs and twisted. Then the Carthaginian toppled from its back and the horse crashed into the press of Libyan warriors. There were cries of dismay and hoarse shouts of anger. A second horse bolted, unseating its Carthaginian rider and breaking through the confused warriors. It staggered paces away from Dubgetious, a hoof fouled on a warrior who had fallen under it. It was all the opportunity Dubgetious needed. He shoved two men from his path, using all the strength in his wide shoulders, and grabbed the mount’s trailing reins close to its muzzle. He leaped, sending his right leg over its back and pulling himself awkwardly astride while still holding his spear in his right hand.

  Amma saw him and opened his mouth to remonstrate, but after a quick glance at the closing horsemen, he nodded and shouted. “Go, Dubgetious! Ride like a djin!” The old warrior pushed aside his men, opening a gap through the lead ranks.

  Dubgetious rucked his heels hard across the mount’s ribs and yelled. It screamed and leaped forward, tearing through the gap and out into the field ahead of the Libyans. Into the path of the oncoming enemy riders. Dubgetious hauled on the reins and cursed to see the enemy so close already. He noticed a flash of movement from the corner of his eye and looking, saw the three Masulian riders were with him, their horsemanship had proved better than that of the Carthaginians. Dubgetious nodded nervously at the Masulians who grinned and whooped, shaking their spears at the enemy riders.

  Hamilcar was running towards them, his face red with exertion. Dubgetious leaned low over the mount’s withers, trying to coax every bit of speed from it. His ears filled with the roar of a thousand hooves striking the ground. The Masulians edged to his right, forming a screen between him and the onrushing enemy riders whose mouths gaped and eyes burned with fury. They were Oretani.

  Dubgetious brought the horse to a halt, dragging its head around to the left and almost knocking Hamilcar from his feet. A roaring crash brought his head around and his eyes widened in shock. Thousa
nds upon thousands of enemy warriors were surging down the hills to the rear of the Carthaginian army. In places, they were already driving their spears into the ranks of surprised warriors.

  Dubgetious felt Hamilcar’s hand grip his thigh as the general made to leap astride the mount behind him.

  “No, you must ride alone. It has not the wind to carry us both away.” Dubgetious slipped from the horse and handed the reins to Hamilcar.

  The man stared hard at Dubgetious. “You would die to save me?”

  “I will find another way.” Dubgetious knelt and allowed Hamilcar to use his shoulder as a step to mount.

  The Carthaginian general turned the mount in a tight circle. The enemy riders were already between him and his army. With a grunt of annoyance, he raked his heels across the mount’s withers and faced to the west where he could perhaps still circle around to reach his men. As he rode away, he shouted back over his shoulder.

  “Try to stay alive, young Bastetani, for I would like to reward you greatly!”

  Dubgetious stood rooted to the spot as the rest of the Carthaginian delegation ran past him, their eyes round with fear. The Masulian riders were circling past the very noses of the enemy riders, hurling their light throwing spears as they ululated. The enemy riders roared in fury as Hamilcar rode away and turned their horses after him. Others rode at the Masulians, eager to swat them and their deadly spears down. The panting delegates were the first to fall. The horsemen whooped as they ran them down, cutting them across the shoulders and bringing screams of pain and terror from their throats. They circled and let the weary men run on before coming back to slice at their buttocks, drawing great lines of red in their flesh. A man tripped and fell to jeers from the Oretani. Two riders slipped from their horses and bound the gibbering Carthaginian’s ankles. Remounting, they dragged him after them.