Unlawful Kingdom

  A Legion Archer

  Book #6

  J. Clifton Slater

  A Legion Archer series and the associated books are the creations of J. Clifton Slater. Any use of Unlawful Kingdom, in part or in whole, requires express written consent. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All rights reserved.

  Weaving stories around history requires planning and a commitment to the process. In the daily writing, my thoughts bounce from antiquity to dialogue to the movement of characters. The person who keeps the story on the right path is Hollis Jones. Unlawful Kingdom emerged from piles of research notes and sheets of ideas to become a novel because Hollis Jones was on the job. For her steady hand and red pen, I am grateful.

  And, my sincerest ‘thanks’ goes to you. My readers are the reason I can spend my days doing research and writing stories. Rendering a hand salute to you for being there for me. Ready, two!

  If you have comments, contact me:

  www.GalacticCouncilRealm@gmail.com

  To follow my progress on upcoming books, or to sign up for my monthly Author Report, go to my website: www.JCliftonSlater.com

  A Legion Archer series

  Unlawful Kingdom

  Act 1

  Chapter 1 – Behavior, Capacity

  Chapter 2 – Find Their Value

  Chapter 3 – Four Perfect Statuettes

  Act 2

  Chapter 4 – Priest of Evil

  Chapter 5 – A Change of Reason

  Chapter 6 – In the Hunt

  Act 3

  Chapter 7 – What Are You Today

  Chapter 8 – The Final Trick

  Chapter 9 – Dangerous Curves

  Act 4

  Chapter 10 - Imagine a Fourth Threat

  Chapter 11 - Red Limestone

  Chapter 12 – Swallowed My Pride

  Act 5

  Chapter 13 – League of Old Men

  Chapter 14 – Of a Priest and an Assassin

  Chapter 15 – Good to be Home

  Act 6

  Chapter 16 – Storm of Ink

  Chapter 17 – The Low Price of Peace

  Chapter 18 – Make Their Poets Cry

  Act 7

  Chapter 19 – The Judgement Trap

  Chapter 20 – Without My Warrant

  Chapter 21 – Jupiter and His Eagle

  Act 8

  Chapter 22 - Third Spear of Carthage

  Chapter 23 – Tiers of Pain & Sorrow

  Chapter 24 – Please Goddess Até

  Act 9

  Chapter 25 – An Unfinished Battle

  Chapter 26 – Legion Tritons

  Chapter 27 – Remember, I Love You

  Act 10

  Chapter 28 – When Out is In

  Chapter 29 – You’re Out of Uniform

  Chapter 30 – Welcome Home

  The End

  From Dawn to Death

  Reserve your Kindle copy

  A Note from J. Clifton Slater

  Other books by J. Clifton Slater

  Unlawful Kingdom

  Act 1

  The storm of success that followed the capture of New Carthage delivered a windfall of goods, coins, and allies. It also brought envy. In the aftermath of the victory, waves of jealousy crept up to the soles of the young General’s boots. Yet, the detractors stopped short of touching him. That would come later, after the accolades faded and the forces opposed to Cornelius Scipio had a chance to gather evidence against him.

  Meanwhile, Cornelius solidified his position through negotiations and threats, sent precious metals to Rome, and hardened the Republic’s positions along the northern coast of Iberia. Promises made and promises kept, the actions satisfied the Senators who voted to elevate him to Prorogatio of Iberia. With the home front secured, Cornelius turned his attention to the Carthaginian and tribal menace. Only then did the black shroud of betrayal get cast, and the shrill voices of his accusers begin a choir of condemnation.

  With its culture of war and warriors, fertile land, and rich deposits of ore, the Iberian Peninsula was on the brink of becoming a new power in the Mediterranean. The region had sustained the operations of Hannibal Barca for over nine years and entertained a serious expansion of the Carthaginian society. In light of the power gathered by taking New Carthage, an allegation arose in the Senate of Rome. His enemies feared the Republic was in danger from a King Scipio and his Unlawful Kingdom?

  Welcome to 209 B.C.

  Chapter 1 – Behavior, Capacity

  Cornelius Scipio sat alone in a chamber. A predawn breeze caused candle flames to dance and the light to flicker over his troubled face.

  When the Prorogatio of Iberia installed his headquarters on Temple Hill, the clerics of the Healing God enthusiastically catered to his every wish. Especially in the aftermath of the massacre of New Carthage residents, they feared displeasing the young Roman General.

  “I dread the daylight,” Cornelius announced.

  His voice bounced off the walls and ceiling. Out of the candlelight, Sidia Decimia stood silently by the darkened doorway. The bodyguard assumed Scipio spoke to the God Asclepius.

  “I said,” Cornelius insisted, “I fear the coming daylight.”

  Realizing he was being addressed, Sidia offered.

  “You’ve seen the mines at Mazarrón, sir. Counted the captured ships-of-war and merchant vessels, twice, and shuffled the sailors and oarsmen,” he listed. “Scrutinized the city’s bolt throwers, and onagers, from their base beams to their counter stanchions and every fiber in the torsion cables. Plus, you’ve overseen the execution of Carthaginian prisoners, and for some reason, allowed the release of spearmen from Iberian tribes. After all that, General, what could possibly give you apprehension?”

  “Following every battle, Hannibal Barca frees any captured man not from Rome,” Cornelius informed Sidia. “Many return to their tribes and encourage their chiefs to become allies with the Carthaginian. I need that layer of support.”

  “The spearmen, sir, are your problem with daylight?”

  “No, Sidia. My worry concerns the last uncounted cache from our campaign.”

  Cornelius approached the door. To Sidia, he appeared as a dark silhouette. Even when the shadow stopped a couple of feet away, the bodyguard remained stationary.

  “New Carthage’s treasury?” Sidia guessed.

  “Senior Magistrate Silanus completed an accounting of the treasury yesterday. We know to the last bronze coin what’s there,” Cornelius responded. “Coins aren’t the issue. At daylight, Centurions will begin parading the hostages held by the Carthaginians before me.”

  “Will you free them like you did the tribal spearmen?”

  “And there is the reason I fear daylight. I don’t know,” Cornelius admitted. “I’ve been imagining myself in the Lyceum, sitting on a bench, surrounded by Plato, Aristotle, and Socrates.”

  “You’re very clever, sir,” Sidia pointed out. “With you in the company of those Greek philosophers, I assume it’s a lively discussion.”

  “Not as lively as you might think,” Cornelius told him. “I was searching for an answer. But as they often do in their lessons, the Greeks give examples and leave the solutions up to the individual.”

  “What solutions did you find, sir?”

  “Plato taught that human behavior flows from desire, emotion, and knowledge. While Aristotle believed the enslaved naturally lacked the capacity to deliberate, and thus for their own good, they must remain slaves. And Socrates advised that all human life is like slavery, and true freedom exists only in death.”

  “Behavior, capacity, or true freedom,” Sidia pondered. “Is there a solution in that, sir?”

  “Only if I’m wise enough to apply the correct teachings to the right hostage,” Cornelius replied. He blew the air from his lungs, inhaled, and ordered. “Optio Decimia, open the doors. Let’s see what the day holds for me.”

  ***

  Cornelius marched from the tranquil chamber into the temple. Immediately, the Tribunes, Centurions, and Velites stopped, and froze in place. From a myriad of voices and the clicks of combat sandals echoing around the temple, the space fell silent.

  “I want measured, hushed, and respectful tones,” Cornelius instructed. He pointed to the center of the temple and the massive statue of Asclepius and his snakes. “During these hearings, we will have decorum. As is befitting the home of the God of Healing.”

  Typically, military tribunals lacked the sophistication of civilian trials. Partly because the military court didn’t allow a rowdy crowd of citizens to voice their opinion after each decision. Hence, without an audience or the need for lengthy legal arguments, the presiding officer had the ability to quickly dispose of cases. Unless the judge, like Cornelius, needed to weigh the results carefully and evaluate the advantages and drawbacks for each of his verdicts.

  Cornelius marched to a raised chair at a table where a pair of clerks waited. He picked up a glass of wine from the table and lifted it in salute. Before he took a taste, Sidia Decimia stepped up behind him.

  “Sir, I’d prefer you drink from this glass,” the bodyguard suggested. He filled a second glass from a wineskin and handed it to Cornelius.

  “Do you think someone would try and poison me in the temple of healing?” Cornelius inquired.

  “Of course not, sir,” Sidia assured him. “Definitely not in the temple of healing wit
h exotic tonics on every shelf.”

  Behind his back, the bodyguard handed off the full glass. A servant would dump the suspect wine on the dirt outside the temple. Not because it was a known danger, but out of caution to protect the Prorogatio of Iberia.

  ***

  Colonel Lucius Marcius entered the temple and marched to Cornelius.

  “Good morning, sir,” the Battle Commander greeted him.

  “Take a seat Colonel and we’ll see how good it is.”

  After sliding onto a chair beside General Scipio, Marcius accepted a glass of wine from a servant.

  “God Asclepius, we thank you for lending your counsel to these proceedings,” Cornelius exclaimed before taking a sip. A moment later, he directed. “First Centurion Turibas, bring forward the first hostage.”

  “Wings Legion, General Scipio,” Turibas bellowed while snapping off a salute.

  Any duty where Centuries preformed near their General was prestigious and a source of pride. The exuberance of Wings’ First Centurion testified to the fact. Wings hadn’t lost enough men in the taking of New Carthage that the Velites might seek revenge on the hostages. This made Wings Legion the natural choice to handle the important captives. Proud of the assignment, and with two Centuries station in and around the temple, his yell could simply be a recognition of the duty. Or, Turibas screaming his Legion’s name in the presence of Marcius, the Colonel of Bolt Legion, might be a little Legion against Legion razzing.

  The reason didn’t matter to General Scipio. He did need to enforce civility in the temple and cut short the proceedings by reducing the ceremonial speech.

  “If we formerly acknowledge my rank and your Legion for the retrieval of every hostage, we’ll spend half the day issuing sentiments to my authority,” Cornelius warned. “And while my admiration for Wings of Nortus Legion is second to none, let this be the last time it’s spoken of today. Wings Legion.”

  “Sir, Wings Legion,” Turibas replied before marching to a doorway on the far side of the temple.

  ***

  From behind the line of columns supporting the roof of the temple, a Tribune of Artillery ran Cornelius’ words through his mind. On the second run through, he twisted them into phrases that served his purpose.

  “Instead of placing his headquarters on Citadel Hill, Cornelius Scipio selected the Temple of Asclepius to show his authority came from a God. And while sitting on a throne, he insisted that everyone show an emotional and sentimental response to his royal authority, rather than embracing the titles bestowed on him by the Senate of Rome. Further, Cornelius Scipio insulted a Legion of Rome by ordering the attendees to let this be the last time the Legion would be spoken of.”

  A junior staff officer marched from the exterior porch of the temple to the location of the spy.

  “Tribune Furia, we’ve positioned the onager on the upper terrace,” he reported. “The Centurion said to get your approval before we hauled the stones up the hill.”

  Justus Furia looked down on the Junior Tribune.

  “An excellent idea,” Justus agreed. “You never want to burden your Legionaries with extraneous tasks. It’s bad for morale. Let’s go check the launch position.”

  The tall Tribune strolled from the temple with the Junior Tribune rushing to keep up.

  ***

  In the temple, First Centurion Turibas shoved a hostage into motion. The man moved in hesitant steps as if preparing to spin around and fight his guard.

  When the pair approached Cornelius Scipio and Lucius Marcius, the captive began strutting forward. Sidia moved up to protect Cornelius. The bodyguard held a Legion dagger at hip level as a warning to the hostage to stay away from the General.

  “Sirs, may I present to you Biurdiki of the Turdules Tribe,” the First Centurion announced.

  When he noticed Sidia’s blade, Turibas gripped the hostage’s shoulder and pulled him back. A silent challenge flashed between the bodyguard and the hostage.

  Trying to ease the tension, Marcius noted, “The tribesman’s face shows signs of struggle.”

  “No doubt he is a son of Mars, sir,” Turibas reported. “And he tries to prove it at every opportunity. Because of his status, our Velites have shown an amazing amount of restraint in dealing with him.”

  “I am Biurdiki,” the hostage stated. “Brother to the King of the Turdules. You can’t hold me. No invader can.”

  Marcius bent to Cornelius and whispered in his ear, “The Turdules are from south central Iberia. They have silver, copper, and iron mines at Pozo Rico, fertile land in the low country, and sheep pastures on the slopes of Guadalcanal.”

  “That sounds like an ally I could use,” Cornelius remarked.

  “No, sir. The Turdules have armor and steel weapons. And they know how to use them,” Marcius advised. “Seven different tribes surrounded their land. To protect their resources, the Turdules learn to fight from a young age.”

  “We are the best warriors in Iberia,” Biurdiki bragged. “We fear no enemy and serve no master beyond the people of Turdules.”

  “If you’re such a good fighter,” Cornelius inquired, “why were you a prisoner of the Carthaginians?”

  “Mazarrón,” Biurdiki spit the word out like a curse. “They have a seaport and can export their inferior metals by ship. Hasdrubal Gisco demanded we stop raiding the mines at Mazarrón. To ensure my brother stopped the raids, Gisco demanded a safeguard. Me. But now, I will go home, and triple the raids.”

  Cornelius dipped his head and put his fingertips to his temples. It appeared as if he was listening to someone. Finally, he nodded and looked up to see Jace Kasia enter the temple.

  “Senior Tribune Kasia. How goes the preparations?” Cornelius asked the staff officer from Wings Legion.

  “Sir, we’re setting the last onagers on the hillside,” Jace answered. “If the Carthaginians come, and try to cross the north bay, we’ll drown them with rocks from the sky.”

  “Very good,” Cornelius commented. Then he pointed to the tribesman. “This is Biurdiki, a powerful and deadly warrior. And for reasons too long to list, other than his brother is a King, I must give him true freedom. Any ideas?”

  “Generally, sir, I’m not the one you want for a diplomatic mission,” Jace proposed. “But in this case, I’ll be happy to oblige.”

  Jace strolled to a pair of light infantrymen from his Legion.

  “I need your shields and one of your spears for the tribesman,” he instructed.

  “Sir, if he has a spear, shouldn’t you have one as well?”

  “It’s a diplomatic mission,” Jace reminded the Legionary. Drawing his skinning knife, he directed. “Give him the war gear.”

  ***

  While Biurdiki received a spear and a shield, Jace strapped the other shield to his left arm. When he finished, he raised his right hand and waved at the tribesman.

  “Through the generosity of General Scipio, you are free to leave,” Jace explained. “Unfortunately, there are Velites blocking every exit, except the one behind me.”

  Biurdiki shifted his grip on the shaft and stepped towards Jace.

  “Then I’ll go over your dead body, Latian,” he threatened.

  From the very first step, the tribesman quickly pushed off the floor, breaking into a sprint. The tip of his spear rammed dead center into Jace’s shield. Well aimed and solid, the force should have driven Jace back and unbalanced him.

  ***

  The strike might have taken an average shield bearer off his feet. But the Cretan Archer learned personal combat in a small circle, against a stronger and more experienced opponent.

  “Your advantage,” Zarek Mikolas said to the boy sprawled on the ground.

  “What advantage?” Jace cried. “If it’s not the tip knocking me down, it’s the shaft, or the butt end. How is that an advantage for me.”

  “As I started to say. Your advantage, when a foe attacks with full force, is you know where he’ll go next. Your job, then, is to put your weapon where he doesn’t expect it.”

  “A lot of good that does me when I’m on my back.”

  “For now, that’s true,” Zarek agreed. “But look where I am. My legs, my arms, my head and neck extension, and the twist of my hips. What do you see?”

  Jace Kasia blinked to clear the tears of frustration and studied the unstable stance. The overextension of his teacher’s arms, the awkward placement of his feet, and hips that had expended all their power, were obvious if one took notice. In short, the all-out assault by his teacher left Zarek Mikolas vulnerable to a counterattack.