Fortunately, at that moment Marc, who had gone indoors to fetch more ale, stepped out and caught the sight of two little legs flailing hopelessly over the shoulders of the Celt. He had glanced around and sure enough Caros was nowhere to be seen. As Caros’ father told the tale, Marc had calmly set the ale down on their table, walked back indoors and returned a moment later with a club he had borrowed from the owner of the establishment. Joaquim had thought for a moment he had somehow insulted Marc until he saw his eyes were on the street. He happily admitted he was deeply relieved he was not the target because Marc wielding the club of knotted oak was just about as frightening a sight as you could expect to see in the civilised world! Marc marched down the street and reached the Celt as the man turned toward a galley every bit as foul as the Celt himself. By now Joaquim was charging after Marc.
Marc coughed loudly behind the Celt and spoke. “Say, is the brat for sale, if so I might have a buyer?”
The Celt stiffened, adjusted his grip on the boy until he had him by the scruff of the neck and then hauled him off his shoulder and dangled him in his outstretched hand. The Celt then slowly turned around while Caros gasped for air and squirmed mightily in the man’s reeking hand.
The Celt sneered at Marc. “You want? Twenty staters! You got?”
Marc frowned and shook his head. “Too much! How about one Bastetani club?” He swung the club in a blur at the Celt’s head.
The Celt was no fool and had seen Joaquim running up the street behind Marc. He knew the game was up. He dropped Caros and dodged the blow. Already he was dragging a pitted sword from its filthy sheath. Marc had no intention of doing battle. In this fight there was no honour. He stepped forward and not bothering to wind up the club again, drove his left fist into the Celt’s gut. The Celt was powerfully built with little fat on him, but even so the man was hard-pressed to stand after that. He managed to get the sword up, but by then Marc was stabbing the club upward. The hardened oak rammed into the underside of the kidnapper’s heavily bearded chin. The man’s eyes crossed as blood blew out his mouth and nose. Marc hauled that club back and now delivered a powerful downward blow onto the crown of the Celt even as his knees were buckling. The blow cracked his skull and he fell to the ground, jerking spasmodically until with a gurgle, he died. From that day Marc always treated Caros as though he was one of his own sons. In return, Caros always respected Marc and trusted him implicitly.
The door was thrown open and Marc bundled out. He had rounded out as age grew on him and was breathing hard at having hurried down the stairs.
“Caros! Curse, come here!” He roared, stretching his arms wide and engulfing the young man in a fatherly embrace. He eyed Neugen curiously over Caros’ head before stepping back to hold Caros at arm’s length. “You look rough, Caros!”
Caros was acutely aware of how he looked. “I know it, Marc.” He smiled and gestured to Neugen. “Neugen of Tagilit. He is one of Alugra’s warriors and the best tracker in the land.”
“Ah, the equally smelly Neugen of Tagilit! Welcome!” Marc clapped Neugen on the shoulder. “Come, come. No point going in and scaring the children. Our little Baria has something new which I believe you could do with.”
Marc hustled the two men through streets that were beginning to fill with life. Children could be heard laughing and chattering. Livestock were being herded from those places that housed them during the night. Night water was dumped out windows and doors. The people already up and on the streets, eyed them warily, but greeted Marc warmly.
Upon reaching a wooden door set in a tall adobe wall, Marc turned the latch and shoved the door open without knocking. They followed into a small courtyard soaked with early morning sun.
Marc looked about proudly. “This is a bath house.” He gestured to the two young men to follow.
Caros looked resignedly at Neugen who laughed. “Sounds like the perfect place to start the day!”
Marc had disappeared into a gloomy doorway beyond the courtyard and they could hear his deep voice issue from inside. He popped his head out and pointed to another doorway. “Go in that way. My girls will meet you.”
Again, Caros and Neugen exchanged looks, eyebrows raised. Entering the doorway Marc had pointed to, they found themselves in a strange room. Caros had never seen a place like it. Four large rectangular bays lined one length of the room. Between each was a low wooden bench. At either end of the room were two large fire pits and both contained crackling fires. Before Caros could absorb any more of the room’s features two young women entered behind them. They were younger than he and looked like they had very recently woken up.
They approached shyly. “Greetings, Marc would have that we show you his bath house.” The taller of the two spoke. Her dark brown hair had been hastily tied up behind her head. She was an ivory skinned girl, with the large, dark eyes typical of the people of the region. With her dimpled smile and prominent cheeks she was a pretty maid, but it was her smile that caused Caros’ heart to lurch. In a blink she went from pretty to gorgeous.
“My name is Ilimic, please disrobe and then sit in here.”
Caros looked over at Neugen who was already happily stripping off his tunic. Caros undid his belt and Ilimic took it along with his tunic once he had hauled it over his head. He flushed when her nose wrinkled at the rank odour that permeated the garment and wearing just his small clothes, took a seat. The girls exited with their garments, whispering and giggling.
Neugen smacked the back of his head. “Your eyes could not stretch any wider and you look like you just farted in front of a priest.”
Caros grunted and leaned back to rest comfortably on the smooth, fired clay wall.
“What is a bath house?” Neugen asked, his eyes roaming everywhere.
Caros had heard of such places, but thought they were only found in large cities such as Carthage and perhaps Rome. Before he could respond, the two women reappeared carrying trays bearing small clay jugs. Ilimic placed a tray beside Caros and then nimbly perched behind him on the wall of the bay. Her legs hung either side of his body, brushing against his arms. He clenched his fists as his heart hammered.
She was fiddling with one of the jugs and when she unsealed it, a perfumed scent engulfed Caros. Marc entered with two men and a third woman.
“Ah! Apologies for being detained, I had to get things moving along. We are not usually open for business so early in the day.” He too disrobed and sat in a vacant bay while the third woman took up a position behind Marc. The women began to rub the scented oils in the men’s skin and knead their shoulders and neck. Caros felt the knots and bruises keenly, but kept his lips pressed tight.
Neugen on his left, sighed happily and Marc laughed. “I have been planning this little enterprise ever since I made that trip to Carthage. Theirs are built of marble and rock with depictions of the gods on every surface. Wondrous!” He groaned as the woman behind him cracked his neck. “I hear the Romans have cleaver heating systems built under the floors of theirs.”
Ilimic’s fingers were deftly working out the knots in Caros’ back and neck and he was beginning to relax.
“Well then, what brings you to my door so early and so ripe hah, Caros?” Marc’s voice had changed.
His father and Marc had worked together for many years. Delivering this news was harder than Caros had anticipated and to his horror he felt his throat swell and his eyes moisten.
“My father, mother and brother are all killed, Marc.”
The big man shot up straight with a roar. “What! When? I just sent a messenger to your father late yesterday.”
“It happened just a few days ago. That is why we look like we do. Alugra and his men combed the hills for the raiders and I rode with them. We hunted down as many of the bastards as we could and recovered a lot of the livestock they had stolen.”
The woman behind Marc leaned forward and gently pulled his tense frame back towards her. His face was dark with anger. “This is terrible news, Caros. It is some measure of comfort
to know that you struck back, but such a loss. Your father and I have been friends for many years.” He shook his head sadly.
“Alugra had to return to Tagilit, so with Neugen’s help, I tracked down three more of the raiders. We caught up with them south of Baria yesterday, just before sunset.” Talking of the past days seemed unreal. His anger had dissipated, and he felt only a raw grief which he tried to bury. He would mourn his loss in private.
Neugen spoke into the sudden silence. “Caros matched three Arvenci warriors yesterday. Alone. Other than a nick to his arm and some bruises, he walked away without a scratch.”
Marc glanced at Neugen and then Caros. “Good man! I have seen you swing a blade and always thought you’d make a fine warrior.” He shook his head. “I warned your father the village needed a stronger palisade. He was a shrewd merchant, but placed too much faith in the peace the Barca’s promised.”
Caros felt Ilimic draw her legs up and kneel behind him, just before rising she leaned down close to his ear and whispered. “I am sure your family’s shades flew true and straight to Endovex’s hearth.”
He turned his head, but she was already stepping away as the two men who had entered with Marc hauled a copper basin to the bay. They slowly sluiced warm water from it, drenching him from crown to toe. Once all three men had been scrubbed and dowsed, they lay on benches while the girls dried them and oiled their skin.
Caros smiled at Ilimic as she caressed the oil into his chest, back, arms and legs. She caught his look and blushed, but held his eyes until a loud gurgle emanated from his stomach. She burst out laughing and Caros smiled weakly.
Neugen had heard, and he too laughed. “Marc, yesterday we camped with some strange horsemen, Masulians. This morning they gave Caros a war name. I would now like to bestow on my hungry friend his bath name. Thunder in the Bath!”
Caros threw a towel at Neugen. Marc laughed, “Well named! I think we can remedy the problem though. Let’s go get some food and I know just the place.”
“What? I’m surprised you don’t have food laid on here for your guests?” Caros cried in dismay. He was famished.
Marc pursed his lips. “Not a bad idea.” Marc nodded, still in thought then rolled off the bench to dress. Marc had thoughtfully also had new tunics, undergarments and sandals brought in for Caros and Neugen. They gratefully slipped these on, happy to never have to see their stained and travel soiled clothes again.
Fortunately the place Marc had in mind was practically a neighbouring establishment and the three men were soon tucking hungrily into a breakfast of hams, cheese and fruits with plenty of watered wine to wash it all down with.
Neugen burped after tipping a final beaker of wine into his mouth. “By Endovex, I needed that! I have been hungry before, but I was sure my stomach was gnawing on my liver for a while there.”
Caros still chewing on some raisins nodded. “I swear my stomach has actually shrunk. Fine warriors we two are, not even properly provisioning before setting off.”
“Seems to me we were on a rocky hill in the middle of the wilderness when you decided to set off.” He mimicked Caros’ words of two days before. “I know this area. We will find a village or shepherd and get food there.”
Marc pushed away his polished plate. “You mentioned Masulians?”
Neugen nodded and explained their encounter with Gualam’s horsemen. When he had finished Marc looked troubled.
“There has been a lot of turmoil of late. You say you heard of the happenings up in Sagunt?”
“Rumours. What do you know?” Caros asked.
Marc shrugged, “You know the Greeks in Sagunt, even some wealthy Edetani, are pro-Roman. They have been pushing for closer ties with Rome for some time. Now with the Barca, Hannibal, crushing the Vaccaei last summer, this faction in Sagunt has become increasingly hostile towards Carthage.”
“Why?” asked Neugen.
“They are hemmed in all around by territories and tribes who are sworn to the Barcas. I expect they fear that their fine city will find less and less trade coming their way from the hinterland.”
This made sense to Caros whose father had been becoming increasingly reluctant to invest in Sagunt. This was why so much precious ore had been deposited in the Baria warehouse.
Marc continued, “I do not have all the facts, but I heard from a Carthaginian merchant on a galley that sailed into the harbour yesterday.” Caros recalled the warehouse guards mentioning the galley. Marc continued, “This man said that tensions had been growing between the two sides, Carthaginians on one side and the Pro-Roman faction on the other. The pro-Romans include the oligarchy, which is mostly of Greek descent, as well as the more noble Edetani families. The Carthaginian said he had been worried for some time and had recently taken the precaution, expensive as it was, of keeping at least one of his vessels anchored in the bay near Sagunt. He says he was actually in the process of selling off his assets in the city when the tension escalated and overnight the whole city seemed to rise up against the Carthaginian population.”
Caros was puzzled. “He did not say what precipitated this rising? Some action or declaration?”
Marc shrugged. “It could have been anything at that point. It is always a danger in a large city that the rabble will rise up if they feel they can get away with it. Undoubtedly they saw an opportunity to rob and pillage prosperous warehouses and homes without being held accountable.”
It made sense to Caros. There were always segments of the population who took advantage of strife to take what they had not earned. “So how did this Carthaginian escape and what of the rest?”
“The man was a sight I tell you. As I said he had taken precautions to keep a galley on hand. He had also hired additional guards and made sure they were Carthaginians or trustworthy locals at least. On the day there had been some stoning on the city streets. Petty stuff, but seeing no action taken against the criminals, more people began to join the small mob. By early evening they began to loot warehouses. The warehouses targeted all belonged to Carthaginians. The merchant said that he would have left then except the mob was at it densest at the western gate and one of the friendly locals warned him the eastern gate was being watched as well. He kept his guards out to keep an eye on the mob. Once the warehouses had been picked over and burned, the mob began streaming into the inner city. The Carthaginian guessed they were now coming for the family homes where they would find rich pickings. He got his family out their home and circled the city, keeping away from the mob and staying as inconspicuous as possible. Carthaginians are, if nothing else, wily people. Before he knew it, there were a dozen families like his headed to the harbour. Unfortunately the looters of course spotted the larger group and after that their escape became a race for the ship. What the man saw that night as he battled to get to his ship he says will haunt him for a long, long time.”
Caros rubbed his face. He could all too well identify with the Carthaginian merchant. It seemed there was no end in the world to those who would kill families for nothing more than malice. He felt his anger rising at the thought of the families who had not taken precautions. Murdered in their homes in a civilised city, all so that some already wealthy bastards could get even wealthier. He saw that Neugen’s face was as hard as his felt. The man’s lips were pursed in anger. Marc just looked weary at the telling of the tale.
Caros asked him, “How safe is Baria? Sagunt is very close.”
“Bah. Close as one rides maybe, but we are a world apart. Yes, there is some fear and apprehension here, but we are allied to the Barcas and have no pro-Roman faction. There is the potential of a city war I guess. Sagunt has a large standing militia and can call on thousands of warriors if it came to that.”
Neugen’s eyes narrowed. “If it did, what provisions have been made?”
Marc looked uncomfortable at the question and chose not to answer. Caros and Neugen exchanged worried looks. Then another occurred to Caros. How had he not connected it? “This explains where Gualam’s horsemen
were going now. He tried to explain it as a training excursion, but in hindsight that reason looks a little flimsy.”
Marc sat up straight, “What? The Iberian Commander from Malak?”
“Yes. He was riding north with a thousand horsemen. Timing seems a little suspicious I would say.”
Marc thumped a huge fist on the table, causing both Caros and Neugen to start in surprise. “There is your reason!” Caros and Neugen looked at him in confusion. “You asked what sparked the riot. The Barcas are moving against Sagunt. If the city elders at Sagunt heard...”
Caros completed the thought, “That the Barca was planning to overthrow them then they would want to rid the city of sympathisers and spies. Or, maybe Hannibal is moving against them because of the killings?”
Neugen took up the thread. “I expect Gualam’s horsemen are an advance guard. There may even be other warriors converging on Sagunt.”
The men digested the idea in silence. Finally, Marc shrugged his shoulders, “Well if all this conjecture is right, there will be war soon and I do not mean between Barca and Sagunt. It will be war with Rome and Baria is a Bastetani town allied with the Barcas.” His frown deepened.
Caros knuckled his eyes, thinking. Where was his place in all this? War between this Barca General and Rome! War meant provisions and iron, men and ale. He had heard merchants say war was created to boost trade. That was the heart of it. War for wealth. He was a merchant and he had the capital to invest in the items an army would need. Is this what he wanted though? To profit from war? His thoughts drifted to his family, to the villagers slain for a few coins and livestock. Their lives were forfeit for another’s gain. There was another side to the coin though. Could he go back to being a merchant after his recent experiences? He had never had many friends his own age aside from his brother. His father had taught them both reading and writing from an early age. They had always lived on the property beyond the village and once he could ride and help in the business he had begun the long journeys from the inland mines to the harbour markets. There had never been time to develop relationships with peers. It seemed his life had always been so easy. He had had no real decisions to make. It was as though his life had been set on a narrow path and there had been precious few junctions at which to choose a different direction. Now he was at a fork in the road and he had to choose wisely. He shifted on the bench, uncomfortable with these thoughts.
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