Warhorn

by J Glenn Bauer

  Caros smiled for a heartbeat. “Not so Toribio. If that were to happen then his death would be a long painful one and before it ends, he would be willing to sell his mother, father and children for death to come quicker.”

  The deserter licked his lips and shook his head. “No ambush, I swear.”

  “Very well, show me.” He gestured to Toribio to lift the man. He stumbled down the street and Caros followed along with Toribio and the men of guard command. The small band of Bastetani moved down the street warily. At every corner they came to, they peered about cautiously, not wanting to stumble into a shield wall of Saguntine warriors. Arrows flew at them occasionally, but for the most part the battles still being fought were to their rear. Small groups of Saguntine warriors that did chance upon them, either fled at the sight of the hardened warriors, or attacked wildly and died quickly.

  The deserter came to a corner and peered around it. Looking back, he risked a hesitant smile. “It is down there. The large place in the center of the row on the right. The one with large black doors.”

  Caros peered around the corner. A single dog loped down the middle of the street. The sight surprised him as dog meat had no doubt become prized among the Saguntines’ as the siege depleted their food stocks. Other than the dog, there was no movement. He scanned the rooftops and saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Toribio, hang on to him. If he is lying, make sure he dies slowly.”

  The warrior grunted in annoyance. “I want to come along. I am not staying out here while you have all the fun.”

  “Shut it and do what I say!” Caros’ nerves surfaced. He gripped his falcata tightly and hefted his shield. This was it, what would he find? Sweat prickled his brow and dripped down his spine. He grunted and started around the corner picking up speed, he charged at the house indicated by the deserter. The command guard followed close behind him, sandals smacking like whip cracks on the cobbles and armour clanking loudly. He made to barge the door, only to be brushed aside by Toribio, who took the step in one stride and effortlessly kicked the door in with a crash.

  Toribio smiled back at Caros. “Don’t worry Commander. I gave him a little pat on the skull and he’ll sleep awhile.” Shaking his head Caros, darted into the building, his heart in his throat.

  Berenger surveyed the shield wall critically. Three ranks deep, stretched across the small square cutting off access to the castro. The warriors were bloodied and exhausted. Months of deprivations had caused cheeks to shrink and teeth to loosen. Despite their condition their eyes glittered dangerously. They were a mixture of local Edetani, and men of Greek descent and they were fighting for their lives. Advancing towards them came a contingent of Hannibal’s well-armed Libyans. Armour shining even in the shadows and shields with the symbol of Tanit emblazoned in red on their white surfaces. They outnumbered his warriors, but he reckoned the Saguntines had the edge, fighting as cornered beasts.

  The Libyan Captain lead his men forward purposefully, no wild charge. Berenger’s estimation of the Libyans was increasing with each skirmish. At the last moment the Libyan hollered his war cry and led his warriors forward. The Saguntines locked up their shields and braced themselves silently. With a crash the Libyans struck the shields and Berenger watched as the two sides flexed and swayed. A curse here as a warrior slipped followed by a war cry as a Libyan drove a spear under a shield and scored a deep furrow through a bare thigh. The men in the front ranks slashed weakly, more as a deterrent, their main strength focused on holding their shields braced against their opponent’s. Berenger signalled to Josa who was watching him. The Captain lifted a warhorn to his lips to sound the charge. Berenger had secreted twenty men in a building to the Libyans’ rear.

  Berenger focused on the doorway, waiting to see the warriors hurl themselves into the Libyan rear. For a moment he feared they had been discovered because none showed. Then he realised Josa had not blown the warhorn, instead he stood with his head down, peering at the shaft of an arrow buried in the base of his throat, just above his cuirass. The Captain dropped his warhorn and sword from nerveless fingers to clatter across the bloodied street. More arrows whistled from the roofs, followed by javelins. Berenger knew immediately that the Saguntines would be cut apart and routed. As though led by his thoughts, the Saguntine lines tore apart, warriors felled by arrow and javelin. In moments the Libyans were amongst the ranks, spears thrusting and blades slashing. Berenger gritted his teeth and sheathing his sword, turned and slipped away down a narrow alley.

  He had gone all day from one skirmish to another, rallying warriors to fight together rather than in small groups. That was the last he vowed, he had done what he could. He traced a well-used route to where he would perform one more deed before making his escape from the city. A deed not for the city, but to alleviate part of the guilt that stained his shade. Stepping through foul smelling pools in a narrow, lichen encrusted alley, he came to a sturdy door in a wall of stone. He tried the circular iron latch, but as expected it was fastened on the inside. Cursing he sheathed his broad sword and wiped his palms on his black breeches. Eyeing the top of the wall, almost the height of two men above him, he planted a foot on a likely looking rock in the opposite wall and pushed himself upwards, fixing his body there by pressing his hands against the walls on either side of him. He breathed in and then quickly climbed higher between the walls until nearing the top he nimbly propelled himself onto the top of the wall and hauled himself over.

  He dropped into the enclosure behind the wall. A small door barred his way, but this one was not built to keep a determined man out. He drove it in with one powerful kick. A shrill cry of fear sounded from the interior. He saw a fleeting shape dive behind a sack of rotten food. A pair of tiny, filthy feet scuttled out of sight. Whimpering sounds came from under the rotting pile. No doubt this was one of the slaves that Rose persecuted here. He drew his blade and flexed his shoulders with growing anticipation and strode slowly across the deserted yard. No fire burned in the cooking pit although the place still reeked of smoke and gruel. Smiling to himself and despite the sounds of violence that were rising now across the inner city, he let loose a bellow. “Rose! Come out here!” He’d see how combative she was now that her champion was about to be toppled. He looked to the dark mouth of the passage leading into the building. Movement in the darkness belied a presence there. Could she actually be coming to challenge him? Instead, a figure more akin to a corpse, staggered out. It was a woman, partially clothed with fleshless bones moving below her pale skin. She reached toward him and opened her mouth to emit a groan thick with stench. He stepped back in disgust. This was surely a shade from the tombs? She clutched a long sliver of sharpened bronze in a bloody, bony fist and lurched at him. He pulled his sword and swung once, cutting her head from her shoulders without resistance. Stepping past the corpse and into the passage he spat on the body to avert its evil from him. Another figure sprawled at the bottom of a set of precarious looking wooden stairs. It was a man, in a drunken stupor and a leer still on his face. The man’s expression didn’t change as Berenger drove the blade into his chest. Flies grew thicker in the still, fetid air and were alighting on the dead man even as his blood flowed down his chest and pooled between his legs. The smell of old decay permeated the building and suddenly Berenger wanted the task done. He thought to call again, but the air was so loathsome and full of winged insects he decided to keep his lips sealed.

  He climbed the stairs two and three at a time and dove through the trap at the top. An axe splintered the powdery old oak floor in front of his eyes and he rolled at speed to his feet. A huge shape flew at him with a speed hard to associate with such obesity. Recovering his anticipation, he smiled and punched hard with the pommel of his sword. The hooked pommel sank deep into the guts of the woman, just below her chest wall. He dodged the axe blade and drove a fist into her massively broad back. The two blows contrived to drop her with a groan to the floor. The room shook at the impact of her body on the timber floor and dust motes danc
ed in the dim light.

  Rose was not done and she hacked the axe at Berenger’s ankles. He stepped on her wrist and was rewarded with a pop as though he’d stepped on a fat beetle.

  “Rose you’re being really unfriendly today my lovely.” Berenger chuckled. She hawked and spat. He watched the yellow drool slide down his grieves.

  “I hear tales of a snake that can spit its venom right into your eyes. The lynx also hisses and spits. Let’s agree you’re no lynx, Rose. No, you’re definitely the snake.”

  She twisted her arm free from under his sandal despite the crunching sounds this elicited from the limb. Not bothering to cradle her swollen arm she rolled and flailed into a corner of the room. Berenger kicked the axe through the trap and it thudded down the stairs.

  “Where is your all-powerful high priestess and that little toad spawn that calls itself a priest. Spread those fat thighs, perhaps he is afraid to come out, eh?”

  “Berenger, what are you looking for here? Are you so dull witted to think they would seek to hide away with the likes of us?”

  He studied her intently in the gloom and didn’t bother to hide the revulsion on his face. “Where is the girl I sold you, Rose?” His blood boiled when he saw the beginning of a grin on her face. He expected to hear of her sacrifice, dying writhing and screaming at the end of the priestess’ blade or under the thrusts of her insane bother.

  “For a price....”

  She got no further. His blade snatched her ear from her head faster than she could blink. Her mouth opened wide in shock.

  “Should have done that first time I saw you, it suits you. You are a big girl Rose and fairly bright after a fashion, so work it out. There is a lot of you to whittle away before we get to vitals.”

  The woman’s eyes shrank to points in her face. “She is gone. Days ago. She was the last.”

  “That so? What of that sack of bones that was bleeding out downstairs?”

  “One of the others. Not fit for the Priestess.”

  Deftly Berenger punched his sword into the sole of her outstretched foot. For the first time, she showed pain, hissing in agony.

  “Berenger... I... I will not die here. I give you the girl and you will leave me?”

  He said nothing, just cocked his head and let his eyes drift to her remaining ear. She moved faster than he could have imagined. As he bounced backward to avoid the presumed attack, she dived across the floor instead. When the dust settled, Berenger stood stunned. Below his feet, heavy thuds gave way to hoarse wheezing. Curious, he stepped to the edge of the trap. Hell of a way to die, he thought, seeing her neck twisted and face buried in the bloody groin of the leering man. A final gurgle accompanied by a mist of red and her bulk stopped heaving and settled. Obscenely, the dead man’s head slumped forward at that moment. A heavy crash along with wood splintering sounded toward the front of the building. Berenger started as daylight fell over the macabre tableau below.

  Maharbal stayed alongside Hannibal as the two men walked their horses to where the street spilled into a square before the gates to the castro. Guards in chain and plate armour, wielding heavy spears and large oval shields bearing the signature Tanit symbol of Carthage, flanked them protectively. Hasdrubal waited in the square looking grim and victorious. “Welcome to Sagunt General!” His voice rang with emotion.

  Hannibal glanced around looking for Mago. “Where is our brother?”

  “He’s fine, he’ll be along any moment. Let me introduce you to the Strategos of Sagunt.”

  Standing rigidly before the gates was the Commander of Sagunt’s warriors, Jimeno Abarca. Hannibal scanned the undefended walls of the castro. He pressed forward and came to a stop, staring down at the older Strategos who looked back at him, defeated, but unbroken.

  “Your walls are destroyed Strategos. You spurned terms and resisted our rightful war against Sagunt for breaking the peace we fostered in the name of Carthage. What can you want now at this hour?”

  Abarca studied the young General, taking in his medium stature and quick, intelligent eyes in an honest face. He murmured a prayer to Endovex and drew a breath. “We give you Sagunt, General. You have taken the outer walls, but the castro is well placed to withstand your ladders and rams. I come to you out of pity for our people rather than in weakness. I come to offer terms.”

  Hannibal cocked an eyebrow at Maharbal and he heard Hasdrubal snort derisively behind him. “Let your terms be heard, my scribe will note them and I will grant them if I see fit.”

  “We offer a treaty of trade and arms. We offer to ally with Carthage as our benefactor. These are the principle points, the finer details we can pursue once a general agreement is reached yes?”

  Hannibal shouted to his scribe. “Break the tablet and burn the wax!” He stepped close to Abarca. “Those are your terms? You are a messenger for fools who have no idea how the business of war is done. I pity you.” He eased up and took control of his anger. “Sagunt is no more, Strategos. I know you have but one cistern for water. You will all be dead of thirst inside a week if not sooner.” He turned his mount and walked it along the wall of the castro as if in contemplation before returning. “These are the terms Carthage require. Every free man, woman and child remains free. Slaves become the property of Carthage, as does all the gold, silver and other items of value. The people of Sagunt will take two changes of clothing each and depart the city this very day. Where they go is of no concern to me.” Hannibal paused to stare Abarca in the eyes. “Those Strategos, are the terms as you would have known they should be. Go tell your Greeks and witch priestess. I expect the gates to remain open after you enter.”

  Abarca’s teeth ground in anger and humiliation. The Oligarchy had expected so much even after losing the city and as one they had made him their spokesman. There was nothing he could do, his power was broken and within the castro he commanded a scant three hundred warriors. All the wealthy had fled to this last refuge days ago and as Hannibal predicted, they would all be dried husks in just days.

  “Very well General.” Without another word Abarca unfastened his belt and let it fall with his sword to the street. The gates were opened and Abarca entered to offer Hannibal’s terms.

  “If they accept your terms, where will they go do you think?” Maharbal asked.

  “North of the Ebro for the warriors and their kin. The merchants will take ship to Greece or Rome I expect.” Hasdrubal shrugged.

  Hannibal looked thoughtful for a moment. “How many of their warriors are still holding out in the city?”

  Maharbal shook his head. “Given the thousands killed and taken captive so far, I cannot see that more than five thousand. I have ordered our warriors to hold fast as long as we are not attacked.”

  “You suspect some trickery, brother?” Hasdrubal asked.

  “Let us just say I am not overly optimistic these snakes will make the correct decision.”

  The smell struck him like a lash. The interior was alive with iridescent flies and Caros had to fight back a compulsion to gag. He started at the sight of two bodies, recently dead, at the foot of a set of narrow wooden stairs. Cautiously, he entered the downstairs rooms with his guards close behind. Toribio hawked and spat at the bodies as did the others.

  “These are newly killed. They did not take their lives either. Argh, this smells really bad.”

  Caros ignored the curses from his men. “Split up and search the place. I want answers so do not kill anybody unless forced to.”

  The first room he entered looked like a cantina and held some tables and benches. Here, two men lay prostrate across the benches. From their breathing and inability to wake, it appeared that they had drunk themselves to the brink of death.

  “Bind them and drag them out to the street.”

  A yell and curse echoed down the stairs and two men tumbled down in a knot of flailing arms. From the deep head wound and sightless eyes of one of them he had been attacked as he rose through the trap at the top of the stairs. The other groaned and dragged himse
lf off his dead comrade. A fellow warrior hauled him up and out the smashed door into the fresh air.

  “Somebody up there is not being very hospitable. May I have a word with them?” Toribio asked sweetly.

  Caros peered into the darkness at the top of the stairs. “Stay right behind me, Toribio.” He hefted his shield despite the narrowness of the stairs and with falcata readied, climbed the stairs slowly. Halfway up, he stopped when his name was called from below.

  “Caros! Caros! Sagunt is fallen! The bastards have accepted terms. It is over!”

  “Neugen! That is welcome news, but I am a little busy here!”

  Neugen appeared at the bottom of the stairs, straining to see past Toribio’s huge upper body. “The whole damn city and you pick the most evil smelling building to storm.”

  Catching sight of the leering man and Rose he gagged. “Oh, sweet Cabar, what a lovely pair of dead people. I think I’m going to be sick. What is up there? Is this the...”

  “Yes! The bastard said Ilimic was brought here where one of my fellow’s heads has just been hacked off. Any more questions or can I finish this?” Caros barked. His nerves were going and the heat nearer the upper storey was intense. He stepped up and heard a woman’s voice call. Without thinking, he withdrew his arm from the shield straps in frustration and hurled it through the hatch. He dove through after the shield. With his upper body through the trap and sword useless under it, he was an easy target. He started around and began to clamber to his feet when he sensed a dark figure rushing him. A huge shove from Toribio below, catapulted him into the room where he crashed against the far wall. The gloom in the room was broken as an unseen door swung open and light flooded in. The attacking figure hesitated between turning to where Caros lay, the trap where Toribio was clambering in and the suddenly opened door. In that moment, Caros saw a muscular warrior dressed in red tunic and black cuirass, helm and grieves. A circular shield was strapped to his back and the man swiveled nimbly on his feet to cover all three points. Beyond him, Caros saw a silhouetted figure, a shade, a dream.