Warhorn

by J Glenn Bauer

The riders congregated all around began to murmur amongst themselves. The Masulian leader stared hard at Caros for long moments before inclining his head briefly in acceptance of Caros’ tale. While taking in Caros’ utterly dishevelled state, the grease and vomit stained tunic highlighted with fresh blood, the still very vivid head wound, tattered beard and stringy hair, he smiled and thrust out his right hand. Hesitantly, Caros lifted his hand and the Masulian quickly clasped Caros just below the elbow.

  “My name is Aksel. It is an honour to meet a brother with such a powerful war name. You must tell me how this came to be? It is customary among our people to give such names to those who offer daring feats. It appears we have come along at a good time, not wishing to be rude to a newly met brother, I have to tell you that you are a mess!”

  Caros blinked a moment before a small smile flickered and grew across his face. Then he laughed aloud. Aksel laughed with him and the men around nodded at one another. The rider with the bloody nose led Caros’ mare to him with a sheepish grin.

  Caros took the reins and thanked him. “Sorry about the nose.”

  “It is nothing. Had I only known I was grappling with a Claw warrior. Humble apologies for striking you with my palm.”

  Aksel interrupted, “Can you ride? I am told you were lying drunk beside the road.”

  Caros blushed in shame and ducked his head before replying. “I can.”

  “Good. You should take yourself home and clean up. You need a healer to look at that wound. Wounds like that need care.”

  Caros nodded dumbly for a moment. Bizarrely he found he did not want to go home and part from these men. “To where are you headed?”

  Aksel regarded him evenly before replying. “We are familiarising ourselves with the territory and hunting bandits and raiders preying on travellers.”

  Caros was baffled. These foreign riders were enforcing law in Bastetani lands? His curiosity was piqued. What had he missed in the time he spent on the farmstead?

  An idea came to him. “I have land nearby with good grazing lands. Why do you not camp out there this evening? It is almost dark already.”

  The Masulian paused and then smiled. “That is a generous offer. Thank you! Some of my men are carrying hard wounds and two of them are in a bad way. May we stay for a few days until they have recovered?”

  Caros was delighted, not that men were injured obviously, but that Aksel had assented. “Of course, my family bred horses there. There is plenty of grazing for all your mounts for as long as you wish. Regrettably I do not have enough provisions to feed all your men though.”

  “No matter, they have rations and will hunt as necessary. This is wonderful. You will be able to tell me more about your war name and how you met Massibaka.”

  CHAPTER 15

  CAROS LED AKSEL AND his column of Masulians down the winding path to his land. Aksel nodded approvingly as they rode through the empty horse pastures. Neighbours were still caring for those horses he had recovered from the Arvenci with Alugra’s help. “Good lands. This is a fertile valley, I am surprised there are not more farmers?”

  Caros shook his head and related that there had been until the Arvenci raid.

  “Ah, that is the hard way of life sometimes.”

  Caros glanced at Aksel, unused to the strange turns of phrase the man used. The sentiment was clear though. “A good stream runs along that tree line. Your men should think to camp on the land below the bend over there.”

  Despite the increasing darkness Aksel was able to discern the features Caros was pointing out. He turned and called instructions to the riders following them. Caros was struck by how quiet the Masulians were. Even when issuing orders Aksel never raised his voice more than necessary. The riders dispersed towards the fields leaving Aksel and Caros to ride on to the house.

  Once the pair’s horses had been rubbed and fed, Caros led Aksel into the house. On the portico, his second step kicked against an overturned flagon sending it spinning and clattering across the boards. Aksel jumped and cursed behind Caros. Caros would have laughed had he not been embarrassed at the discarded flagon, a testament to how he had been living. In fact, the portico had a nasty sour reek to it. Caros shuddered and quickly pushed open the front door. He spent most of his time outdoors or on the portico, finding the empty home oppressive. For this reason, he was confident it would at least be tidy. At the hearth he quickly struck up a fire using the flint and oil kept there. Caros then quickly lit several lamps.

  Aksel stood looking about uncertainly before voicing the question on his mind. “There is no one here?”

  Caros shook his head sadly, “No my family were all killed in the raid.”

  An uncomfortable silence was broken at last by Aksel, “Apologies. I thought there would be others here even if not family.”

  “This is it. I live alone here now. I will just fetch some food and ale, give me a moment.”

  Aksel looked at the table and chairs with a slight frown. He sat uncertainly and with a tentative smile. Caros grabbed a remaining flagon of ale and a hock of cured ham. Looking at the meagre fare he shrugged unhappily. His mother would have been able to lay a spread that would have included fresh vegetables and bread before her guests.

  They talked quietly and about trivial matters. Clearly Aksel had as many questions as did Caros, but the simple meal and the eerie quiet of the empty home lay heavily on both men. Caros appreciated that Aksel laughed dismissively at his apology for the quality of the meal. Caros also noticed that Aksel took small sips of ale from his cup and did not seem too fond of the strong drink.

  After what was an uncomfortable meal Aksel smiled at Caros, his teeth gleamed in his nut-brown face. “Thank you, Caros. If you will excuse me, I must now go tend my men. I am worried about the injured men I mentioned earlier.”

  Caros had forgotten. “Oh! They had slipped my mind. Why do you not let them stay here? They will be welcome and of course your healer as well.”

  Aksel smiled again, his eyes glinting, “Unnecessary Caros, but the offer is appreciated.” He paused for a moment, “Come down to my camp for your first meal tomorrow? Burney, whom you will meet, insists on cooking for me and his meals are excellent. How does that sound?”

  Caros was delighted and said so.

  That night Caros slept fitfully, but he went to sleep sober and with a lighter heart than he had felt for a long time. The following morning he washed thoroughly and dressed in a clean tunic and breeches. His stomach was rumbling as the sun rose and the night mists began rising over the fields alongside the stream. He strolled leisurely through the mist and took pleasure in seeing the Masulian horses grazing the unused pastures. The scent of horses seemed to perfume the air. Ahead he could see campfires already lit and thin columns of smoke rising languidly above the field in which the Masulians had camped the night.

  A young Masulian warrior, who had been sent to escort him through the various small camps to Aksel’s fireside, met him at the edge of the field. The young warrior smiled widely and waved at Caros. Caros tried greeting him and the warrior laughed good-naturedly and spoke in his native tongue. The warrior clearly knew no other language, so Caros followed him quietly through the throng. The men were all awake and already at their campfires eating their breakfasts. Many shouted greetings happily to the pair as they passed. It seemed to Caros the Masulians were much more animated and boisterous than when he’d ridden back with them the previous evening and put it down to them being rested.

  Aksel spotted them approaching and waved happily. He was tending a horse that was tethered to an old oak tree. “Caros! You look well this morning.”

  “Thank you. You were not jesting when you said sunrise for breakfast!”

  The Bastetani, like other Iberian tribes, ate later in the morning and often skipped midday meals, preferring a large meal after sundown.

  Aksel smiled. “Best time of the day my friend. Where we come from it is best to rise early and do as much as possible before the sun becomes too warm.” He
spoke quickly to the young warrior in their native dialect and then bade Caros to follow him to the fireside. A thick carpet of woven wool had been laid on the ground and a choice of foods was arranged on wooden trays. A short man with a very swarthy complexion was fussing over something at the fire.

  “Burney, our host has arrived.”

  Burney looked over his shoulder with wide eyes and a big smile. “All done, just getting the last of the eggs readied.”

  “Good.” Aksel motioned towards the carpet, “We’ll sit here. Burney will bring the eggs, hot from the fire.”

  Caros sat and Aksel poured two cups of drink and handed one to Caros. “Burney makes this from fruits. The fruits here are more difficult to come by, but he is a great explorer. What do you think?”

  He noticed the drink had a strong citrus smell as he took a small sip of the contents. It was the juice of oranges mixed with something very spicy, but pleasantly refreshing at this hour of the day. Caros smiled, “It’s good! Very sweet, what is the warm scent?” He did not know how else to describe the spice flavouring.

  “Burney! Caros wants to know what you put in the juice!”

  Burney rose and came towards them carrying a pot of boiled eggs in a hand wrapped in coarse towelling. “Ah, it’s called cinnamon. Good for the heart and keeps old men like me vigorous!”

  Aksel snorted, “Burney, you’re only a couple of years older than either of us.”

  Burney laughed, “Exactly! Here we go.” He carefully tipped a handful of boiled doves’ eggs into a bowl. Burney dropped down alongside Caros and shoved an empty wooden platter into his hands. “Dish up young man. No standing on ceremony here or we’ll starve while Aksel grows fat.”

  The men all piled into the spread of dates, figs, olives, eggs, yoghurt and freshly baked flatbread. Licking his lips, Caros finished off his meal.

  “Aksel said you were an excellent cook. He was right! Thank you, it’s been a long time since I ate so well.”

  Burney looked delighted and then swivelled his eyes to stare at Aksel. “So you think I’m excellent at preparing meals do you? My daily rate has just gone up chief.”

  Aksel snorted. “I don’t pay you Burney. You just appear!” The men chuckled together and then Aksel rose, “Come on, I want to go and see to the men and those wounded.”

  Caros spent the day with Aksel as the Masulian chief ensured his men were in good shape. He attended the sides of the men who had been injured in a skirmish they had fought two days earlier. Both lay stricken in their bedrolls. Caros could not understand the conversations Aksel had with them, but he came away feeling that their leader had lifted their spirits. The young chief seemed to have an easy confidence with his warriors. They instantly brightened when they saw him, but not with familiarity, rather with respect and pride. Caros tried to reconcile Aksel’s way of leadership with Alugra’s or Gualam’s. They were worlds apart, literally.

  Aksel also met with his leading warriors. These were four middle-aged men, veterans if the scars were anything to go by. One man, Manat was his name, had a rippling silver scar down his right forearm and his right hand itself had just three fingers and a thumb. Caros watched the five men squat in a close circle. They simply bent their knees and sat resting on their haunches. It was not a sitting style his countrymen took, but he recalled now how he had seen Gyptos and other North Africans sit in the same fashion. He emulated the men and crouched. It was an oddly comfortable way to sit if you could call it that. It seemed to him like his rear end was hanging on a spring. He shuffled a little to get more comfortable and then paid attention to the gathering. Aksel introduced Caros to the four Captains. Manat, with the silver scar; Kouf with jet black hair hung in ringlets hinting at Phoenician blood; Hahdha with sharp, green eyes and Jinkata; a leathery veteran with a hooked nose more akin to a beak. The men all nodded solemnly to Caros in greeting. Caros listened to Aksel confer with the men in their native African language. The men all spoke easily and rapidly. They possessed a strong confidence in what they were saying and seemed to agree easily with one another. Caros detected no fissures in their unity. They all seemed to work easily with one another and with Aksel. Here was as good an example of a united leadership if ever he saw one. These Masulians would be formidable allies or foes depending on whose side they were on. The meeting ended in a short while and the men went their separate ways.

  “The men are happy to be here Caros. They need the rest and time to take stock. Thank you again my friend for granting us your hospitality.”

  “You and your warriors are most welcome here. They certainly look like seasoned warriors.”

  “Ah, many of them are. Others were just breaking into manhood when we arrived. They have shaped up nicely since then though. It’s been a good experience for them.”

  “Yesterday you mentioned you were scouting the land as well as fighting bandits?” Caros questioned.

  Aksel regarded him quietly, “That is correct. I detect that the real question is whose coin are we taking?” Caros blushed, but Aksel just laughed good-naturedly. “It is no secret any longer. The Barca, Hannibal, has bolstered his forces with many Masulian warriors. It seems he has grand ambitions here.”

  Caros nodded, his thoughts confirmed. “The Bastetani have been friends of the Barcas since the days of Hamilcar. It has been a good alliance I believe for both sides. In fact the Bastetani have never been as powerful.”

  “Nevertheless the young Barca seems to want to expand his alliances ever north and west, but there has been much resistance.”

  “Many of the Iberians prefer war to peace. It has always been the way of Iberians. It is fortuitous that we Bastetani saw a better way.”

  Aksel smiled, “Yes, peace is a blessing, but every man has the urge at times to go to war. It is how men are I think. We are content with one woman, but we always seem to find a way to want another. Peace is like that, it makes us content, but after a while we begin to look around for a means to start a war.”

  Changing the subject Caros offered to show Aksel around the farm. He took the chief around the rebuilt home and outbuilding. Aksel nodded appraisingly at the structures. Caros felt the chief was merely being polite.

  “What is the land of your people called Aksel?”

  Surprised, Aksel thought for a moment, “We don’t have a name for our land for it is many lands and many people. There are names for mountains and valleys, but no name for our land. I think this is similar to yours, am I right?”

  “That’s right, although I have heard increasingly talk of the name Spain to refer to all the Iberian peoples’ land.”

  “Ah, yes, then you will have heard of Numidia. This is what the Romans and Greeks call our territories.”

  “Numidia! I have heard this name mentioned when dealing with merchants.”

  They had circled the farmstead and now arrived at the corral where Caros kept his mare. Aksel leaned up against a post supporting the wooden rails and admired the horse cropping her feed. “That’s a good horse. Just the one?”

  Caros shook his head, “About ten others, but neighbours are looking after them.”

  Aksel cocked his head questioningly. In response Caros explained in detail the raid and mission afterwards to recover the stolen livestock. He found himself opening up and telling Aksel what had happened afterwards and how he had been wounded. Aksel was a good listener and if he had questions, he kept them to himself as Caros spoke. When he had told the Masulian everything, the man was silent for long heartbeats. Caros leaned on the topmost corral pole, his chin on his hands, staring at the mare as she chewed through her feed. He felt better for having spoken of the events and the loss of Ilimic.

  Aksel finally broke the silence. “Your head wound still looks bad. I do not think you have been looking after it very well, but that is understandable. Our healers have a lot of experience with wounds. One of them even studied the lore in Egyptos.” He turned his deep eyes on Caros. “Would you permit him to examine your injury?”

  Ca
ros was touched by the offer. The injury was still raw and never had he taken so long to heal. True, he had never been this badly injured, but he knew the skin should have knitted by now. Instead, the gash still leaked blood and pus daily.

  “You are right I have not tended it. I have been trying to avoid dwelling on it.” He shrugged, “I would appreciate it if your healer could aid me. Thank you.”

  That afternoon found Caros seated before a short, muscular Masulian warrior. This was the healer Aksel had referred to. Caros had thought the healer would be an older man. He had pictured a scholarly type, maybe with a long grey beard. Instead Aksel had introduced him to this man who looked like a very proficient warrior. His name was Rual and like Caros, the healer also spoke Greek.

  Rual cleaned away the thin, weepy scabbing and probed the puffy flesh around the injury. Caros clenched his teeth against the pain. The man next looked deep in Caros’ eyes and with his strong hand clasped under Caros’ ears, turned his face in different directions. “There are two injuries we must deal with. The first is this gash, but the more serious is beneath the bone.” He rinsed his hands in a pail of water as he spoke. “You have much pain behind your eye yes?” Without waiting for him to answer Rual went on, “The blow that split the flesh has also caused fluids to pool under the bone. This is causing the pain. I can drain this which will reduce the pain.”

  Aksel was sucking his lower lip as he listened from nearby. With some trepidation Caros asked the obvious question. “How do you drain blood from beneath the skull?”

  Rual smiled and flipped open a leather bag. It opened to reveal a selection of shining instruments tucked into pouches sewn within the larger leather cover. These instruments were of brass and finely made. The merchant in Caros guessed that they must have been worth a small fortune.

  Rual pointed to the items. “Please trust me. I learned this art in Alexandria from skilled healers in that city.”

  Caros tore his eyes from the sharp and pointy tools and focused on Rual. “Tell me how you do it and have you done it yourself?” He smiled mirthlessly, “After all I have just one head.” Aksel grinned widely as did Rual.