“There it is. Now they’ll push forward on the barges.” Caros muttered, picturing the scene on the river some ten stade distant. A thin trumpeting call rang up to their position. The Volcae were assembling. The calls became ever more strident and soon the hillside was awash with the distant call of war horns, the beating of drums and the muted roar of warriors. Caros wiped his suddenly damp palms along his tunic. Along the ridgeline, Hanno and his three thousand warriors appeared, leaking from the tree line and silently padding down the hill.
“Time to close on the enemy!” Hanno called.
Caros gave him a mirthless grin. “Fast as lynx and as quiet eh!”
The warriors ran now, their shields at their shoulders, their swords, axes and spears flashing in the sun as their arms pumped. The thudding of boots on the ground and rattling creak of armour sounded like an avalanche as the warriors poured downhill towards the river. The Volcae camp, nestled in a hidden fold in the hills, came suddenly into view as Caros crested the rise above it. Women and children milled in anxious groups, watching as their men raced towards the log berm at the river.
“By all the gods!” Caros swore at the size of the army of Volcae. It seemed the whole of their people were there with their warriors lining he makeshift palisades as thick as fleas on a fox.
Hanno threw up his arm and his warriors came to a crashing halt along the ridge. Caros glanced at the commander, wondering if he had lost his nerve. Pitting three thousand against what looked like ten thousand or more warriors was asking a lot of the young noble. Hanno watched the Volcae yelling insults at the slow-moving rafts. His face was set in a grim mask and his eyes burned with determination. Caros shivered suddenly, certain now of Hanno’s intent. He would throw them at this enemy despite the numbers. Closing his eyes for a moment, he sent an invocation to Runeovex.
Hanno shouted to his captains. “Form lines. Close the lines up!”
The captains hustled to do as commanded and warriors edged closer, shoulder-to-shoulder, linking their shields together to form an unbroken wall.
Caros took a position in the center of the front ranks with Aksel on one side and Odlussus on the other. He looked about him and noticed Maleric barging his way through the lines to his position. It was oddly reassuring to have the wild Gaul close. The warrior gave a Caros wide grin and winked.
Their presence above the camp had not gone unnoticed. Women were turning and staring into the rising sun, hands shielding their eyes. There was no panic, but there was confusion and concern. A small file of Volcae warriors turned and jogged back through the camp and on towards Hanno’s line.
Hanno turned his back on the Volcae and faced his men. “On my command we advance! Keep your lines, stay tight and we will crush and drive them into the Rhone! We’ll turn the river red with their blood on my oath!” He paused and looked over his shoulder. He spoke again with a brittle edge to his voice. “If their women get in our way, kill them. Do not hesitate for they will fight as hard as their men.” There were murmurs up and down the line, many lewd. The river now held scores of barges, each teaming with warriors ready to fight to the death for a foothold on the eastern shore. Volcae archers sent a flight of arrows high into the air and in moments, these were hissing down amongst the barges. Many missed, but Caros saw warrior after warrior tumble into the river. The battle was now rightly underway and the slaughter would only become worse. He shivered at the memory of his vision. They could not allow the Volcae to hold this bank of the river. Oblivious to the carnage unfolding behind them, the small band of Volcae warriors started up the gentle rise towards Hanno’s command. On the river, barges bumped and ground onto the near shore. The defenders loosed arrows, slingshot and javelins in lethal volleys, felling whole swathes of warriors as they battled onto the muddy riverbank. Hanno raised his sword, high and balanced it there, catching the bright morning rays, then swept it forward. The small band of Volcae stopped mid-stride as a guttural snarl rose from three thousand throats.
The line surged forward and Hanno’s captains had to bawl for their charges to remain if formation. Caros jogged forward, his eyes fixed on the distant line of Volcae warriors decimating the leading elements of Hannibal’s invasion force. The little band before them broke and fell back to their camp with curses. One raised a horn and blew a long, loud warning note. He died for that. No less than a dozen javelins punched into him, spinning and toppling him like a child’s plaything. Now women were screaming in the camp. Their plaintive cries turning men from the barricade on the river, allowing Hannibal’s attack to at last reach the shingle beach, to gain some protection under the steep bank just beyond that.
Caros realized that the line was no longer jogging forward sedately, but somehow in the last few heartbeats begun a fast lope. Then he was running, jumping rocks and shrubs and hurtling towards the Volcae. The silence of their attack broke with a wild roar, as though they hoped to fan their battle rage and freeze their enemies’ hearts. They were amongst the makeshift camp now. A young woman appeared from a doorway, mere paces in front of the lead ranks. Caros looked fixedly beyond her, heard her short scream and sensed the rank ripple as it surged over her broken body. Caros roared and a tether of sanity snapped behind his eyes, sending a surge of battle lust through him.
Volcae warriors turned away from the river in haste, incensed at the sight of their women and children crushed before the charging Carthaginians. Lone warriors howled their anguish and came at them fearlessly, madly.
“For the Barca!” Hanno punched his sword high and lifted his shield to his chin. Caros leaped a handcart and slammed into an enraged Volcae warrior. His falcata thrashed through the air, cleaving the man’s head below the rim of his helmet. Aksel was beside him, punching his sword overhand once, twice and then suddenly sweeping low, taking his opponent in the knee. Now the Volcae came in denser packs and Caros cursed and braced as a wall of shields came at him. Then with a mighty crash, their shields met his and those of his companions. He heaved and felt his opponent give. He stabbed under his shield and found only leather and wood. A long sword flicked at him and he ducked his head and snarled. He kicked and stabbed and then the men behind him were shoving and the enemy was sliding, feet gouging furrows in the soil. The warrior against whom he fought lost his footing and Caros used the falcata like the killing weapon it was and hacked hard at the man sheltering behind his shield. He kicked the shield and hacked as the man tried to roll. The blade caught his bronze helmet, parting metal and bone. The warrior screamed and bucked against his death. Caros was already past him and engaging the warrior behind. Odlussus somehow, was already amongst them, his sword whistling and striking down any unwary enough to close with him and then a blood-spattered Maleric was beside Caros, a savage grin etched in his face. The Volcae came at them with fear in their eyes, yet still they came and Caros felt proud to fight such men. As courageous as the Volcae were, Hanno’s warriors were blood-maddened and unstoppable for it. These veterans cut down the Volcae that came at them piecemeal and then there was a solid line of Volcae before them.
The breath tore from Caros’ lungs in raw gasps and he faltered. The Volcae stood firm, glowering over their shields, at their centre a warrior wielding an axe and sporting an iron helmet fixed with wide decorative horns roared out orders. Hanno’s captains dragged men into the front ranks to fill the spaces left by the dead. Caros hawked and spat a glob of phlegm at the Volcae. His shoulders heaved and his right arm was crimson with his enemy’s blood. Looking beyond the Volcae lines, he could see nothing of Hannibal’s main force although the ringing of steel on steel and blood curdling screams sang of a bloody fight being waged at the river. His attention refocused on the Volcae before them as the axe-wielding warrior lifted his axe and roared a challenge. His warriors took it up, bellowing and cursing Hanno and his troops.
“Brace! Brace!” Caros called. He knew they would charge in a moment and he set his shoulders and locked his knees.
The Volcae chieftain leaped forward and his en
tire line leaped with him. They crossed the handful of paces in the blink of an eye and then Caros was slammed upright as the two lines collided. He stabbed even as a blow jarred his head. Stars danced behind his eyelids and he had to lock his back foot to stay upright. His blade licked out, but found only the face of a shield. He raked his boot down a shin and felt bones snap as his came down on a bare foot. Hearing a rough curse from the Volcae warrior, he quickly heaved his shield down, forcing the other’s shield lower. He thrust his blade forward and took the warrior in the eye. Pulling his arm back sharply, he just managed to avoid a slashing sword. The injured warrior screamed and ducked his head behind his shield. Beside Caros, Maleric’s sword plunged across the top of his shield, flensing flesh from the face of the warrior opposite him. Aksel’s long arms and height gave him an edge over the warriors he fought, and he struck as fast as an adder. Few men can hold their line when iron bites at their faces, taking eyes and ears. The Volcae gave way before them, not as a dam would burst, but as a roof might slowly collapse at the licking of a thousand flames.
A hand on his shoulder dragged him back. Caros snarled at the Volcae backing away from him. Odlussus was shouting in his ear and as though he had lost his mind to savagery, he could not fathom the words. Odlussus batted him about the head and pointed. They were deep into the Volcae lines while behind them the enemy was cutting a swath through Hanno’s Africans. Their intentions were clear. If they could isolate the eighty or so men around Hanno, they could destroy the entire command of the Carthaginian column.
“Aksel! Maleric!” Caros roared. They grunted and fell back on Caros, their blades ever darting. Caros shouted to the men around them to tighten formation. Hanno fought like a hero of old with his shield and sword; twin weapons striking out in savage rhythm. Caros bulled through the warriors about him until he was beside the commander. “Hanno! The Volcae are cutting us out, we must break for our main lines!”
Blood splattered across his face and dripped from his nose. “That bastard with the axe. We kill him and the rest will lose heart and flee.”
Caros fended of a ringing blow with his shield and stabbed at the warrior trying to cut him down. “He is a giant, but I can take him. With a little help!”
Hanno grinned, showing blood in the gaps between his teeth. He looked like a daemon. “Let’s do it!”
Caros grinned back and looked around for Maleric. The wild Gaul was fully engaged, battling a man with a heavy spear and the skill to use it, but Aksel nodded at his gesture and slipped back from the front ranks. Making their way to the rear, they staggered over bodies and weapons, their eyes ever alert for a dying man’s thrust. The Volcae chieftain’s axe rose and fell, barely pausing, as the warrior cleaved his way through Hanno’s men.
“He is a monster!” Aksel shouted, hefting his shield.
Caros’ blood rage cooled as he watched the warrior shatter a shield with a single blow and then split the owner’s skull, sending a ghastly fountain of blood and brains into the air. “Men cower away from him and he counts on that. We need to attack fast and get in close or it will be our brains between his toes.” Caros shouted.
Aksel hissed and spat while Hanno wiped his hands dry and cleaned the bloody hilt of his sword as best he could. Bracketed by Hanno and Aksel, Caros advanced on the deadly Volcae axeman.
“Now! Attack!”
They burst from the Carthaginian lines at the axeman’s flank, barging their own surprised warriors aside, leaping from the backs of those on their hands and knees, retching out their guts. Their battle cry alerted the axeman for he opened a man’s ribs as though splitting firewood and then spun with a growl to face them, his lips pulled back into rictus-like snarl.
Caros felt his bowls loosening and screamed. “Now! As one!” He leaped while Aksel pivoted, slashing and Hanno drove his shield rim into the warrior’s ribs. Caros’ blade opened the warrior’s arm from shoulder to elbow, splitting the bunched muscle. Aksel thrust his sword between ribs and Hanno trapped the lethal axe against between chest and shield. The warrior seemed to take a breath and then his arms lashed out, sending Hanno tumbling and knocking Caros to his knees. Aksel spun, sending a spray of blood arcing through the air before crashing to the ground. Caros roared and fumbled for his blade lost in the grass, trying to blink away the darkness threatening to fill his head. He sensed a shadow loom over him and imagined the axe descending. Giving up on finding his sword, he pulled a dart from within his shield and rolled backwards, stabbing up blindly. The sharpened iron drove into the giant’s knee, it was as high as Caros could reach. The axe swung and with a tremendous crash, splintered his shield before glancing off the armour protecting his shoulder. Caros kicked the warrior’s bloodied knee and sprang to his feet as the man staggering sideways a pace. The dart was still clutched in his hand, so Caros hurled it with all his strength. The weighted iron struck the giant below his ribs and buried deep into the man’s stomach. The axeman roared in pain and jerked the dart free. Caros spied his blade in the grass and snatched it up, ready for the man’s attack, but instead of attacking, the axeman wore a look of surprise. His eyelids sagged and he slumped to his knees. Behind him stood a panting Maleric, his long sword still buried deep in the man’s back. With a howl, the Gaul pulled the blade free and took the Volcae warrior’s head with a powerful blow.
Caros laughed. “Thank the gods there was just one of him!”
With a bloody smile, Maleric hacked off the fallen warrior’s ears and stuffed them into a bulging bag at his waist. Caros smiled thinly, suppressing the urge to empty his stomach. Instead, he stumbled to where Aksel sat, gingerly fingering his bloodied nose.
“I thought he had hacked your head off! Never knew so much blood could come from a man’s nose!”
The Masulian looked at him, eyes glazed. “Bastard hits harder than an Oliphant can kick.”
Caros clapped him on a shoulder and pointed at the mass of enemy warriors crashing against their men’s shields. “Not a good time to sit around.” Taking Aksel’s arm, he dragged him to his feet and steadied him. “Head spinning?”
“Like a whirlwind.” Aksel leaned forward and threw up, splattering Hanno’s feet.
The young commander had a swollen eye and his nose still dripped blood. “We are losing too many men. If the main attack does not break through soon…” Hanno eyed the battle lines apprehensively.
“You expect us to cut a path through to them?” Aksel gestured towards the river.
Caros looked at the mass of Volcae hacking at their men. The Africans’ light armour and shields were barely holding up against the wild tribesmen with their long swords. They were veterans though and time after time, they exploited the Volcae poor discipline and individual style of battle to send wedges deep into the enemy lines before reforming, leaving dead and dying tribesmen in their wake. Each such foray cost them though and Caros could not fathom how they would break through such a host to reach the river and their main force.
Hanno must have come to the same realization for he shook his head. “No. We retreat to some place where we can hold them. They will leave the field if they cannot take us.”
Caros pointed. “That is where we need to be.”
Hanno stared and then smiled widely. “Perfect!” He shouted orders to his captains and within moments, the African warriors began to realign. They did so while staving off increasingly determined attacks by the Volcae until at last, they were ready. Hanno winked at Caros and gestured to his trumpeter who blew the signal to attack.
The Volcae warriors on the small hill that pinned one end of their defensive line had the luxury of loosing their arrows and javelins unopposed into the dense mass of Carthaginians on the riverbank. They mocked one another when they missed a target and cheered loudly when they struck a hapless Carthaginian. Some were reeling already from the steady flow of harsh drink they had consumed all morning. Engrossed in targeting the Carthaginians on the riverbank or in their cups, they did not notice the sudden change in the battle at t
heir rear. When they did, their eyes stretched wide.
Caros went down on one knee, his shield covering his head as he hacked hard at an enemy’s ankles. The warrior screamed and toppled and Caros was over him, plunging his sword into the man’s throat as he passed. The Carthaginians under Hanno had formed into a wedge and were relentlessly cutting their way through the enemy. Breathing hard, Caros paused as African warriors streamed forward. Maleric clapped him on the shoulder with a bloodied hand.
“Good fighting today! I have taken many ears!” He laughed wildly. Caros looked at the bulging bag on the man’s belt with a suppressed shudder. Without warning, the Gaul suddenly drove into Caros smashing him to the ground.
Winded, Caros shoved the mercenary off him with an angry shout. “Have you lost your wits you fool?”
Maleric rolled to his feet with a sigh and pointed at the still quivering pilum embedded in an unfortunate African’s chest. “You would prefer die with that through your guts?”
Caros’ recognised the weapon as the unusual Roman spear. Maleric had his shield up and Caros followed suit. The Volcae on the hill had turned their attention on Hanno’s warriors and they were using the lethal Roman spears to good effect. The slender iron head of a pilum could drive clear through a shield and even punch through chain armour. Already the African warriors were taking numerous casualties and the impetus of their advance was slowing.
Caros grunted as an African several paces in front of him was struck by a pilum. The man reeled backwards, the iron shank protruding a hand’s length from his back. The warrior gaped with wide eyes at the long shaft protruding from his body and then with a violent tremor, vomited a fountain of blood and toppled to the ground.
Caros spat and fixed Maleric with a hard stare. “I say it is time to clear that hill. You in the mood to hunt for more bloody ears?”
Maleric’s answer was a broad grin and a whooping battle cry. Caros joined in with his own battle shout. “Barca! Barca!”
Maharra Page 25
