BooksBarbecue
Back Iron Winter Save as PDF
Chapters (89)
  1. Title page
  2. Contents
  3. Map
  4. ONE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. TWO
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. THREE
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. FOUR
  77. 70
  78. 71
  79. 72
  80. 73
  81. 74
  82. 75
  83. 76
  84. 77
  85. 78
  86. 79
  87. Afterword
  88. By Stephen Baxter
  89. Copyright

‘I suppose you’re right. The whole world’s hungry, and they’ve all come here to pinch our grub, the Iberan bastards from across the strait, and the Libyan bastards who live around the corner, and the Hatti bastards who are on their way across the Middle Sea. But they aren’t going to succeed because we’re going to fight them and stop them and kill them, aren’t we, aurochs?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Right, there’s still a few Libyans left. Get stuck in. If you find a helmet that fits you take it; that acorn shell on your head looks ridiculous.’ For a moment he glanced down at the mutilated Iberan, at blood-splashed Nelo. ‘An Iberan and a Northlander, fighting to the death on a scrap of Carthaginian soil. I don’t suppose either of you wanted to be here, and we don’t want you here, but here you are, and this is the way it has to be.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You’re still on a charge. Go, go!’

Nelo ran off, after the fleeing Libyans and his own jubilant comrades. Already the crows were gathering overhead. Even the crows were hungry this spring.

51

Nelo’s force got back to camp at noon the next day.

The army of Carthage, swollen by levies, conscripts and mercenaries, was gathered on the plain to the west of the city’s landward walls. The camp wasn’t much to look at, just tents, a few buildings of mudbrick or sod. The ground was scored by drains and pitted with latrines, a system Nelo had come to know very well, for digging out the latrines and emptying them was the kind of detail that devolved on units like his own.

Still, Nelo had already been a Carthaginian soldier long enough to witness the changes that had come upon the camp since Fabius the Roman, the favoured general of the moment, had taken command. Once it had been a dusty shambles. You couldn’t even have told where it began and ended, and traders and whores had come and gone unchallenged, along with a few Libyan assassins. Now defensive ditches and barriers marked the camp’s boundaries, and Fabius had had stubby watchtowers built and manned, and sent patrols riding far out into the country beyond. In the camp, on a day like today after a bit of action, you could hear the blows of the smiths as they fixed battered armour and weapons in their workshops, and the cries of the wounded as the surgeons tended to their injuries, and the multilingual chatter of this force gathered from many nations: the mostly Carthaginian officers, tough black warriors from the southern empire of Mali, pale blond men from as far north as Scand, and men of the Middle Sea from Ibera and Gaira to the west, the Muslim kingdoms to the east. It was a mixed-up army in a mixed-up world, Gisco would say, shaking his head.