Caros grabbed Aksel’s shoulder as the chieftain made to go with Manat and his pitifully small group. “No! They will sell their lives for you. Do not waste their gift by getting yourself killed.”
Aksel shook in frustration, his eyes pooling with unshed tears. With a final shake of his head he allowed Caros to lead him away. From a distance, they watched as Manat lead his men in a counter attack. They tore past the pursuing Romans and unleashed their deadly javelins, decimating a small group of frontrunners. Wheeling, Manat and his men cut across the valley leading a contingent of Romans away from the main chase. Another sudden turn by the nimble Masulian ponies saw their riders hurl another volley of javelins into the flank of the startled Roman cavalry column.
Closer to hand, the main column of Romans had reformed and began their pursuit of the fleeing Masulian column. Caros grunted; his horse was already lathered in sweat and blowing. They would have a hard time outdistancing the enemy.
Riding past the hill that had hidden the Roman column, Aksel pointed. Another string of a score or so of Masulians waited in the deepening afternoon shadows. These barely glanced their way, their eyes were fixed on the chasing Romans instead. Caros heard their ululations as they launched their mini counter-attack. Dust thickened the air, but he caught glimpses of the Masulian assault. They closed on the Romans, hurled their javelins and then skillfully wheeled and raced away. They did this time and again, each strike slowing the Romans and knocking two or three from their mounts. The Romans split into two columns and converged on the small, heroic band in an attempt to lock with them. The Masulians whooped and cursed the Romans from almost touching distance before wheeling and darting away. Like sparrows mobbing an eagle, they floated around the silver and red of the Roman cavalry while to the north the remnants of the Masulian column slowed and cheered. From a hundred directions, the sounds of war horns bellowed. The Romans broke stride, slowed and then turned.
Caros squinted ahead through eyes stinging with dirt, sweat and blood. Clouds of dust obscured the northern horizon and from this came a mass of horsemen.
Chapter 19
Hannibal’s great army stretched through the hills west of the Rhone river valley and down onto the wide plain itself. Tens of thousands of warriors marched east, their flanks guarded by a shield of Masulian and Iberian horsemen. These riders came out of the dust in a mighty wave and flew south after the fleeing Romans.
Caros reined in the stallion, his breath harsh and his body quivering. The surviving Masulians formed an island of cheering men around him as their countrymen streamed past. They had numbered near five hundred when they had reached the Rhone and they were fewer now by half. They had paid a steep price for Gualbes’ head and that any of them had survived was a miracle. He spotted Aksel and made his way wearily over.
“That was a close thing. Manat and his handful of warriors saved our lives, do you see him?”
Aksel gave Caros a wild smile. “That was a battle that we’ll need to drink to and sing of! You are right though, Manat will receive a war name today.”
In the dust and amongst the milling riders the pair finally found Manat and crowded him on both sides, slapping his back in glee. The Masulian Captain was still shaking with battle fever and had his hands buried in his pony’s mane to keep upright. He paled and leaned over to retch. Caros laughed shakily, his stomach roiling. Warriors all about were sliding from their mounts and embracing one another. Caros, lightheaded, did the same. He felt certain that if he did not, he would fall from the stallion. The moment his feet touched the earth he went to his knees and threw up as well. Spewing and laughing hysterically, the survivors made their way to the river. The riders allowed their mounts to drink a little before dragging them away from the water to keep them from making themselves ill. Men washed in the mud-fouled flow, rinsing bloody wounds and soiled clothing. Caros found a fallen tree that still grew. In its shade, he hitched the stallion’s reins to a bough and began to rub its legs, keeping his mind occupied and his hands from shaking, the exercise as much for him as for the horse. A familiar voice called his name and he looked up to see Odlussus the Gaul sauntering downriver. Beside him rode a familiar figure on a magnificent black mount.
“Odlussus! Glad you came along with us now?” Caros called.
“Aye, that was one hell of a ride! I have only just finished washing the shite out of my smallclothes.” The Gaul chuckled. His braccae were soaked and Caros surmised he was not exaggerating. He turned to the rider.
“Greetings, Muttines! Welcome to the Rhone!”
With a flash of perfectly white teeth, the rider smiled and sprang from his mount. “Caros! Claw of the Lion! It is good to see you Bastetani. You have been busy tweaking the tail of our enemy I hear.”
“Good to see you to. Your arrival was the work of the gods.” Caros spoke earnestly. “The General is well?”
Muttines was Commander of all Hannibal’s cavalry forces. The Libyan was well known to Caros from the long siege of Sagunt and the bloody battle on the Tagus, where they had faced down and defeated a massive army of allied Iberian tribes.
Muttines took Caros by the shoulders and studied him closely before embracing him. In a quiet voice he spoke. “The General is very well. He wishes to see you and asks that you join him at his headquarters.”
Caros nodded, surprised by how anxious he felt about meeting with Hannibal again. The Carthaginian General had treated him with honour and Caros felt a deep respect for the man.
Muttines cleared his throat. “Adicran’s death was a poor thing. I understand that you have been hunting the traitor responsible, Gualbes? We will finish it and take his head even if it takes a lifetime.”
“No fear there. You’ll find his head on a stake at the gates of Massalia.”
Muttines whistled. “I might have known. How did the Greeks like that then eh?” The Libyan elbowed Caros with a good-natured laugh.
“I’m not sure about the Greeks, but the Roman legionaries there took exception. Especially as I slew their agents in front of the walls as well.”
Muttines went quiet, his brow furrowing. “Roman legionaries in Massalia?” He held up a hand preventing Caros from answering. “Never mind. As curious as I am, I will hear your report when you give it to Hannibal. Come, you look like you could do with a good meal.”
The Carthaginian pavilion glowed white against the backdrop of newly green grass. Caros noted the familiar Libyan honour guard that ringed the pavilion and he recalled the pavilion as it stood at the besieged city of Sagunt. Cooking fires burned brightly in the growing twilight and on the clouds of pale smoke, drifted the aromas of rich food. While his stomach rumbling in anticipation of a good meal and strong wine, his heart rode his throat at meeting with Hannibal and the Barca brothers.
Muttines must have divined his apprehension. “Hannibal is looking forward to meeting with you. He will reward you richly for your service Caros.”
A Libyan Captain stood tall in his burnished armour and recognising Muttines, called a greeting and ordered his men aside. Caros followed Muttines’ lead and dismounted a javelin throw from the great pavilion. The front wall was furled and figures paced the interior while others reclined in the regal furnishings. A servant took the horses while another led Caros to a leather trough in which water steamed with exotic scents. The servant helped Caros undress and then sponged and oiled him as he stood eyeing the pavilion.
Cleaned and oiled, he was provided with girdle clothes and a startlingly white tunic emblazoned at the front with the red crescent of the Tanit.
Muttines made a show of sniffing when he was dressed. “Ahee, you certainly look more like an envoy now. I wondered if even the scented bath would clean the smell of horse from you.”
Caros grinned, aware that days on horseback and without a wash had left him smelling foul. “If you’re finished wooing me shall we go meet the General?” They paced across the grass towards the pavilion and a figure within turned to approach the entrance. Hannibal. Caros w
alked into the flickering light of a score of lamps, his attention on the Carthaginian general. At five paces he stopped, his gaze held by Hannibal’s frank and welcoming expression.
Caros lifted his right hand to his brow, his fingers resting there a heartbeat as he inclined his upper body forward. Hannibal smiled and returned the traditional Carthaginian gesture of respect and peace before stepping forward to envelope Caros in a brotherly embrace.
“Caros! Claw of the Lion! I give thanks to Tanit for favouring you.” Hannibal stepped back, his hands still clasped to Caros’ shoulders, his eyes somber. “You have done well. You have turned what could have been a difficult passage for my army into a fair stroll. You have been living up to your reputation I believe?”
Caros grinned cautiously. “I am glad to have been of service General. You will have received our messages I am sure, so you know some of what has happened.”
“True. I know of Gualbes’ deceit and Adicran’s death. The new Aeronosii chieftain, Castrodubis, has sworn allegiance to Carthage, as has Jornican of the Andosinni. All due to your work.” Hannibal smiled and led Caros into the pavilion. “I am also aware that you have been hunting this Gualbes ever since. Come eat with us and tell everything.” Hannibal turned to those already present in the pavilion. “Commanders, you no doubt remember our Bastetani ally and the hero of the Tagus, Caros son of Joachim, Claw of the Lion.”
Muttines, already drinking deeply from a wine cup, grinned while a chorus of greetings issued from Hannibal’s commanders. Caros nodded to each. Maharbal, commander of the Iberian cavalry, allowed a grave smile and small nod. Massibaka, the commander of the Masulian horsemen and their prince, was less reserved and he too embraced Caros. “You carry your war name well, Bastetani. How is Aksel?”
“He fares well despite trying to keep me from harms way.” Caros grinned. He turned to the remaining commander and Hannibal’s youngest brother. “Greetings, Mago. You are well?”
“Caros! How I envy your having already clashed with the Romans. I must hear how you faired.” The younger Barca brother smiled widely at Caros.
Caros inclined his head modestly. “There is much to tell.” He looked about, but of Hasdrubal, Hannibal second brother, there was no sign. “Where then is Hasdrubal? Not come to harm I pray?”
Mago guided Caros to a place amongst the large cushions scattered about on soft carpets embellished with bright images of all manner of strange beasts and fowl. Oil lamps hung from the canopy, threw a flickering glow over the men while at every entrance, braziers burned.
“Hasdrubal? Never! He remains in Iberia, tasked to keep the…ah administration there in line and direct reinforcements and supplies as we need them.”
Amused at Mago’s discomfit, Maharbal laughed. “What he means to say, but is too bloody polite to, is that you Iberians are a cursed pain in the arse and Hasdrubal stayed behind to whip them bloody if they got ideas. Not so Mago?”
Caros snorted at Maharbal, by far the most bluntly honest man he had ever met. “Which chief is it this time?” He well knew what the head-strong Iberian chieftains were like.
Hannibal stepped in smoothly. “None in particular, but we expect Rome to foster some rebellion.” Two youths stepped unseen amongst the men, filling any cup that ran dry. Hannibal raised his cup to Caros who nodded and lifted his to his lips. The wine was strong and just a single mouthful kindled a comfortable glow in the pit of Caros’ gut. The aroma of exotic spices and roasted meat had his mouth watering. Hannibal set his cup down. “Muttines has told of the battle with Roman cavalry. What can you tell us of them, Caros?”
“My general.” Caros ordered his thoughts before speaking. “We first encountered them shortly after we came to the Rhone, just yesterday.” He paused, struck at how much had happened in a day. “As you know, we were pursuing Gualbes. We caught up with him south of here, but before we could fall on him, the Roman cavalry appeared.” Caros went on to describe how he and Aksel had outflanked the Romans to run Gualbes down. Once he had recounted the death of Gualbes and the Roman agents, there was a brief silence.
Hannibal smiled at the men about him. “Some of their Senators at least have been busy. They must have been planning from the moment they heard we were marching on Sagunt.”
Maharbal shrugged. “They may have been, but they are still unprepared.”
Caros looked across at the General. “The Romans have more than just cavalry at Massalia. They have legionaries stationed there as well, although I could not tell you how many. Some thousand or more marched from the city to attack when we slew Gualbes. I would gladly return to Massalia to learn how strong a force we will be confronted with.” He looked at Hannibal. “I would be honored to do so.”
Hannibal smiled at Caros and winked at Maharbal. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary Caros.”
Confused, Caros spoke. “Forgive me General, you must already know the enemy dispositions then.”
Maharbal laughed, as did the others, deepening Caros’ confusion. Hannibal, still smiling, asked him. “You believe I’ve marched all this way to sack Massalia?”
Caros’ eyes narrowed. “Yes. It seemed the only destination. Gualbes even mentioned it and I think perhaps the Roman spies told him this.”
“Then all is well for it is not my intention to attack Massalia. While they are allied to Rome, they are a mere outpost in no man’s land. No, as always my goal is to open the Inland Sea to all and to do that I must overcome one city. Just one and it is certainly not Massalia.”
Caros sat thunderstruck. He knew now as surely as night follows day which city it was that Hannibal meant to attack. He finally found his tongue. “Rome? You would march on Rome? From here?” Even as he uttered the words, he realized the truth. Carthage dared not send a fleet against Rome for the Roman navy had grown too powerful. That left only one route to Rome and that was along the coast. “They will be waiting with every man armed and ready by the time we reach their lands.”
A line of servants appeared with platters of aromatic food, but at a gesture from Hannibal, they hastily retreated. “We will take a route they will never expect. When they first set eyes on this army, we will be deep in their territory and then our work will begin. One city at a time. We will free the tribes cowed and subdued by Rome and allow their cities to be free once again. With every city we free, Rome’s grip will weaken until it must either fall or submit.” Silence fell. A moth burned its wings in a lamp and fluttered in a smoking spiral to the carpet. Massinissa, nearest to it, stepped on the injured creature and crushed it. A bead of sweat broke from Caros’ brow and he heard ancient voices whispering. Reflexively he spat on the rich carpeting.
Hannibal laughed aloud, mistaking the reason for Caros’ reaction. “I know, I know. I make it sound like a day out hunting, which it will not be. It will be a long and difficult campaign. Still, with our bases in Iberia and reinforcements from Carthage, Libya and King Galba’s Masulians, we can do this thing. If we do not, tribes all around the Inland Sea will be crushed by Rome, just like that moth.”
Caros exhaled, the premonition having passed, he blushed at his mistake. “Apologies general. I felt the shades of an unrelated matter.” He took up his cup and drank deeply while at last the food was brought through to the waiting men. They ate well and the food tasted every bit as good as the aroma had foretold. Tossing aside yet another gnawed bone, Caros stretched and belched. Hannibal did likewise and grunted. “Eat well men. Where we are going there will be little meat.”
Curious, Caros risked asking. “If you are not staying on the coastal routes, you must be planning to strike out into the cisalpine. I have heard the weather and the tribes there are brutal.”
Hannibal shrugged and rose. “It is stuffy in here. Come and walk a little with me.”
They passed two towering guards at the main entrance; each harmed with broad-bladed spear on shaft as thick as a warrior’s wrist. The night beyond the pavilion was alive with the cacophony of tens of thousands of men camped in the val
ley and on the hills above. Pale stars surfed the liquid black sky and a corn-coloured moon sailed the eastern horizon. Hannibal gave an expansive wave about him. “We will make a way. What can stop us? Snow? Tribesmen? We will lose men and beasts, but we number tens of thousands. Every tribe between here and Rome bears the yoke of servitude to that one city. These tribes will gladly take our silver and join us.”
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