Aksel grunted. “We can do two more days. The men and horses will keep that long and I have as great a desire to capture Gualbes as you.” He eased a cramp in his leg and smiled. “Besides, watching the old Gaul ride the pony we loaned him is highly amusing.”
They had not counted on Odlussus knowledge of the countryside and very quickly, the Gaul was redirecting them from rougher land and had them skirting the more hostile settlements. They sat their horses in the shade of a stand of pines; watching a line of heavy wagons drawn by oxen, pass along a winding track below them. The wagons contained baggage and the occasional woman or child. Along the flanks marched masses of women, children, livestock and warriors.
“Looks like entire settlement is on the move. Are they your people?” Aksel asked, squinting at the hundreds of people moving along the rough trail.
“They are Gauls yes, but from a distant clan. Our people are moving always, seeking better land, better neighbors and better enemies.” His coughed and changed the subject. “Massalia. It lies south of here. A day’s ride.” He gestured to the south and Caros frowned.
“If it is to the south then surely Gualbes could have already reached it? We have come too far north?”
Odlussus snorted. “Gualbes does not have the advantage of the land anymore. He must carry on east and then turn south down the river valley towards Massalia.” He burped loudly and thumped his chest. “We will run him down in the valley.”
Caros looked over the landscape. “Why would he not just strike straight for Massalia? Surely that is the shortest route?”
“If he had traveled that way his head would be rotting on spikes by now. There is war between the chieftains west of Massalia, some clan dispute. Gualbes with a hundred riders, would not make it through those lands.” He smiled wickedly. “I also happened to make sure these chieftains received warning of mounted raiders coming their way, seeking to plunder their wealth and straddle their women.”
Caros grunted in amusement, the Gaul would be an invaluable ally, just as Hannibal would want the local tribes to be. “Odlussus, you are a wily old bastard. I will see that you are justly rewarded when this is over. You will find that Hannibal is generous to his allies.”
“He is a general and will do as he sees fit.” Odlussus muttered then looked contrite, or as contrite as Caros thought he was ever likely to look. “A reward would be welcome, but I do this for honour. This Gualbes fellow deserves killing.”
They heard the hoofbeats before they saw the rider and, in a moment, their shields were up and they were spinning to meet an attack. Caros growled with irritation when he realized it was one of their scouts coming on fast. As he neared the column, he grinned and shouting to the riders who gestured to where Caros sat with Aksel and Odlussus. Riders all along the column called greetings to the rider who yelled at them as he rode, exchanging news.
A man close by cupped his ear to better hear and then turned to them. “It is Manat! He brings three hundred of our clan with him!”
There was a general uproar all along the column. Manat was one of Aksel’s four Captains and had been scouting northwest of Olot with Massibaka’s column. Caros smiled at Aksel’s look surprised. The scout turned his pony skillfully a dozen paces from Aksel and called over his shoulder with a wide smile. “Manat brings three hundred more riders!” The rider took off to spread the news.
Manat’s column appeared not long later and he rode forward to greet his chieftain, embracing Aksel like a son and then giving Caros an equally warm embrace.
“Greetings Manat! You have turned this into a fine day! We’ve seen nothing of our own forces for close to a full turn of the moon.” Aksel’s could not hide his relief.
“Greetings Aksel. It is good to ride beside you again and you Claw of the Lion. You have ridden hard and far!”
Caros laughed. “What of Massibaka, is he near?”
Manat shook his head. “Some two days behind. What’s more, so is Hannibal. There was some fighting to be done with boneheads in some of the higher passes and one big battle, but I only heard of it.”
“Yet you are here?” Aksel asked.
A wide smile. “We were told you were hunting an enemy. It became worrisome when you did not return or send back a message. On Hannibal’s order, Massibaka sent us to find you.”
“We may be close on the heels of our quarry, but our horses are nearly dead and we have had little food. Your riders and mounts are fresh, so welcome to the hunt!”
Chapter 17
The men of Aksel’s column used the spare horses brought with Manat’s riders, allowing their mounts time to recuperate. With the fresh mounts under them, Caros forced the pace and the enlarged column speared through the countryside. Ahead the silver thread of the Rhone showed how far they had come and as they entered the lush valley, scouts returned with news that Gualbes’ column was making its way down the valley to Massalia.
The river flowed deep and sullen beside the trail and beside it thundered the five hundred Masulians. Caros leaned forward across his stallion’s withers and smiled. They had swept around a headland in the river valley and in the near distance caught their first sight of the men they pursued. Caros grinned like a wolf at the consternation among Gualbes’ riders as they turned to look over their shoulders. Their mounts were broken, heads low and with barely the strength to canter. Still their riders tried to whip them into a last futile dash for the safety of Massalia. The Greek spawned city, at the mouth of the Rhone, was less than a day’s ride from them, but they could never expect to outrun the Masulians.
“We have them! They cannot outdistance us now.” Caros felt his blood rising to meet the coming battle. He drew up and allowed the Masulian column to close up and form a line across the valley, their mounts floating on a sea of fresh spring grass. While the Masulians formed their line, he watched as Gualbes’ riders tried to bolt. Some opted to head down the valley towards Massalia while others, knowing their mounts were broken, turned for the thickly forested hills bordering the floodplain of the river.
“They scatter like fowl before a fox.” Aksel’s eyes glinted like sharpened iron and his voice was as cold.
“Do you see Gualbes?” Caros asked, his eyes flickering over the fleeing riders.
Aksel pointed straight down the valley. “That group remains tight. I expect you will find Gualbes among them, perhaps the Romans as well.”
Caros watched the handful of riders, as they kept to the southbound trail in a tight knot. “I think, my friend that you have it right. Let us finish this now.” He raised his hand aloft, gripping a javelin tight, ready to order the advance.
“Hold!” Aksel’s voice sounded like the crack of a rawhide whip.
Caros had seen it too. Beyond the fleeing men came the flash and glint of sun of metal. A dark mass was slowly revealing itself above the sweeping vista of green.
“Riders! Many of them as well.” Aksel sounded agitated.
“Probably the local Volcae. This is not their concern. We can still run down Gualbes.” Caros held his pawing stallion steady. Aksel spat and gestured for them to ride on.
Caros urged his horse forward with a bellow and to either side of him the Masulians ululated and broke into a charge en masse.
Leaning far over his mounts bunching withers, Caros felt the wind in his face and gave vent to his war cry. They swept towards the fleeing riders and closed the distance relentlessly. In the distance, the approaching column grew larger and then broke into a wheeling turn. Now Caros could identify individual riders and his heart slowed. These were no rich Greek or Gallic warriors. These new riders looked entirely different and their horsemanship was efficient, measured and controlled. His eyes moved to the fleeing riders and he realised Gualbes would reach the ranks of these strangers before he could be run down. Appraising the strangers, he saw that to a man, they wore shining cuirasses. Flowing from the tops of their conical helmets were crests of crimson-dyed horsehair. Their piebald and white horses were flowing across the green
towards the Masulians at greater speed now. Caros drew back on the reins and raised his hand. The Masulians growled in frustration, they were masters of the horse and running fight, but they slowed and stopped in line, their mounts pawing and rearing, sensing the moment. The oncoming riders were much more numerous than the Masulians, he guessed closer to a thousand, outnumbering his men by two to one. He was not prepared to throw away their lives against such odds if they proved to be hostile. Aksel cursed loudly, but Caros’ mind was working as he took in the terrain. To his right was a low ridge blanketed in forest. To their rear the river valley formed a crook, which effectively hid the upper valley from sight. In the distance, Gualbes and his riders merged with the oncoming line of cavalry, which slowed and stopped. Caros watched as a knot of men gathered around Gualbes. Moments later he heard a trumpet sound from their lines. The line broke into a trot, coming on towards the Masulians who growled, shouted curses and ululated. Some charged ahead, waved their javelins and cursed the riders.
Caros laughed and Aksel’s jaw dropped. “What by the gods is funny? Who are these fellows?”
“Those are the cavalry of Rome. There is the enemy and what good timing for Gualbes eh?” He wheeled the stallion about and set off back up the valley with the Masulians glowering over their shoulders at the Romans.
They retreated slowly up the valley, allowing the enemy to gradually close the distance. The large bluff, around which the river flowed, reared over their left shoulders and they bunched as the wide valley narrowed below it. Emerging north of the bluff, Caros turned his horse to the low hills, beside him rode Aksel and thirty handpicked riders. They galloped their mounts and gained the tree line, merging quickly into the shadows and disappearing from sight. Behind them Jinkata took the Masulians sixty paces up the valley and then turned and formed the Masulians into two columns. From the edge of the trees, Caros caught the Masulian Captain’s eye and inclined his head, one warrior to another. Then he rode his horse after the others, each spreading out and seeking their own path between the tall pines. They skirted a deep-sided ravine and found themselves at the ridgeline. The valley floor, masked from sight by thick forest, filled with the beat of hooves and crows lifted from the trees in a great cloud. Then came the call of a trumpet and a sound peculiar to war, the many throated battle roar. Whispering an entreaty to Runeovex, Caros led the small detachment south through the forest, behind them Jinkata and Manat would command the Masulian columns in a feint against the Roman cavalry.
As instructed, the two Captains waited for the first sight of the enemy rounding the headland. The oncoming cavalry was led by an imposing figure in a cuirass shaped like a muscled torso. Unimpressed, Jinkata leaned over and spat into the trampled grass.
“Time to kill Romans my brothers! We have tasted their blood before and how sweet that was! Aaaheeeei!” He rose tall on his mount and behind him the Masulians roared in response. Without another sound, the Captain turned his mount and stormed the Romans, cutting through the grass and closing the distance in heartbeats. The Roman Commander’s eyes narrowed and he signalled to the rider at his side who lifted and blew the call to form lines. The Romans pushed forward through the bottleneck and began spreading across the valley. Their line still only numbered fifty men wide when Jinkata rose and knees braced, launched his javelin in a single fluid motion. It flew with the speed of the running horse and then still faster with the power of the wiry warrior’s shoulder. In the time it takes a man to blink, it found its mark. Piercing the leather padded iron cuirass as if it was mere parchment, the javelin tore through a Roman heart.
Far above in the forest, Caros heard the sounds of battle and grimaced at Aksel who shook his head slowly. Jinkata was tasked to challenge the Romans and lead them north while avoiding actual engagement. It was perhaps too much to ask a warrior, who faced with a worthy foe, wanted to prove his mettle to his gods, his men and himself. The sounds of battle diminished and faded as the small war party cut through the forest and put the headland between them and their companions to the north. Caros led them through the forest, edging lower and lower until they were threading through the edge of the tree line, the open valley floor before them. The Roman cavalry were past the headland and out of sight at their backs. Sweeping out of the trees and onto the flat plain, they pushed their mounts hard. The wind was fresh with the tang of the Inland Sea as it blew through Caros’ whiskers and he flexed his muscles and rolled his shoulder while beneath him his great stallion galloped across the fertile ground. In the distance, a small dark cluster soon grew larger and broke into the shapes of horsemen. Caros bent his neck and caught Aksel’s tight smile. Faces turned and peered over their shoulders at the galloping war party. In a heartbeat, they realized their danger and broke into a dead run. It would be a close thing for rising against the backdrop of the cerulean blue ocean, were the white walls of Massalia.
Caros pushed his horse harder still and the wiry Masulian ponies stayed at his flanks. The ground was falling away and the enemy riders were flagging, their mounts spent. One, burdened with a pair of men, fell back suddenly, stumbled and crashed to the ground, its heart ruptured. Caros went by the fallen pair, his javelin whipping through the air and pinning a stunned rider to the ground through his chest. Trumpets sounded from the walls of Massalia and then Caros was striking again. His javelin flying true and toppling another warrior from his mount. The remaining enemy drew up and turned knowing they must fight or be picked off like hares. Their expressions hard, they came at Caros and his riders, swords drawn and spears braced. Caros saw Gualbes driving his mount mercilessly at the centre of his riders and he steered towards the chieftain. He whipped his arm forward, sending his javelin darting at the man and drew his falcata in the next heartbeat. Gualbes, fending the javelin aside easily with his round shield, came on hard, his long spear stabbing at Caros’ eyes. His falcata was equal to the task and he batted the heavy spear point aside with a powerful blow. The Masulians were amongst the enemy now and the melee was a desperate lunge and parry action. Horses neighed and kicked, as much at war as their riders. A mount veered from a biting Masulian pony and crashed into Caros from his left and for a moment his every muscle tensed in a struggle for balance. The stallion beneath him responded as though trained to and braced for the time it took his rider to regain his seat. Gualbes used that heartbeat to spin his mount and lunged from Caros’ rear and it was all he could do to flinch away from the stabbing spearhead. He turned his stallion and the horse drove, biting and kicking into Gualbes’ mount. The mounts struck hard, but Caros had the best of the impact, his falcata swinging hard at Gualbes who covered with his shield. The heavy bladed falcata split the bronze rim and splintered the shield in two. Gualbes’ face was a hand’s breath from Caros’ when the blow struck and the Aeronosii’s face turned white. The blade had taken his arm below the elbow. Caros head butted the warrior in the face; the blow smashed the Aeronosii’s nose and drove him from his seat. He dropped his spear and clung to mane of his mount, his right leg trapped between the horses. Caros drove his sword hard at the rider and the blade parted his armour and opened his gut. The horses broke away, his stallion delivering a parting kick. Caros strained his neck to see Gualbes drop lifeless to the ground.
“Bastetani!” Caros roared his challenge, his falcata held high. Around him, Gualbes’ best warriors lay dead, their bodies pierced through by javelins. They had been his inner circle of knights, well-armed and with years of experience. They had fought hard and the Masulians had lost too many men. Aksel, on the far side of the skirmish, shouted and pointed. Two riders on white horses had used the skirmish to break away and flee towards the city gates. Caros snarled and set after them. These must surely be the Roman agents behind the treachery at Olot. He was aware that Aksel was beside him as he raced after the Romans. Beyond them, the walls of Massalia rose high, lined with Romans and city militia. He grinned madly; aware how close he was to the walls and death. The gates to the city shifted and cracked open.
Caro
s urged his stallion on and the rearmost Roman glanced grimly over his shoulder. The man’s eyes widened in shock at seeing Caros so close and then Caros whipped his falcata into the small of his back. Caros was past him, registering the man’s scream of agony, his spine severed. The walls were so close now that Caros could see the set of stone on stone. He glanced over his shoulder at Aksel whose eyes were fixed on the fleeing Roman. Caros pulled the stallion up and watched as the Masulian braced and launched his javelin while riding at full gallop. The spear flew unseen from his hand and a heartbeat later struck the Roman between the shoulders. It pitched him forward over his horse’s withers and he tumbled in an ungainly heap to the ground, the snap of the javelin ringing out against the city walls. An ugly roar rose from the warriors lining the walls, but the sight of a column of warriors marching from the city gates in tight formation, commanded all Caros’ awed attention. While the Libyan warriors serving Hannibal dressed uniformly and were well armed with identical weapons, they lacked the sheer martial vigour these Romans displayed. Their stamping feet rose and fell as one, beating the ground as though it were a drum and then they turned. Aksel whistled in admiration while Caros watched the Roman legionaries swing from column to line with never a misstep and then their front rank hefted their shields before them, presenting a wall of painted wood. They were three ranks deep and advancing relentlessly towards the two riders when Caros noticed the Romans all carried their odd-looking javelins. The legionaries ate up the ground as they advanced and were almost within range of a well-thrown spear. Caros had a sudden foreboding about the legionary’s ability with their javelins.
“Perhaps it is time to be away.” Still he remained, watching the Romans and then, on a whim, urged his mount forward. His blood still aflame with the killing of Gualbes, he raked his heels down his mount’s flanks and it broke into a gallop. Racing across the face of the approaching legionaries, his bloody falcata held high, he jeered the enemy warriors. His Latin was unpracticed and so in Greek, he taunted them. “I, Caros of the Bastetani, have killed your sailors and your spies! Soon you too will taste the kiss of my sword!”
Maharra Page 20
