Cornelius nudged his horse and the mount cantered away from the staff. Sidia galloped ahead of the three veterans and caught up with Cornelius.

  “I’ve been with you long enough to know you aren’t reckless, General,” Sidia speculated. “Therefore, I assume you see something in this situation others missed.”

  “They came through the gap as if expecting a fight,” Cornelius replied. “When we didn’t offer one, they formed ranks and sat around as if waiting for an inspection.”

  “You don’t think the Celtiberi came to fight?”

  “They’ve invaded Oretani territory and that seems wrong. Plus, the cavalry arrived without a command staff. And for no good reason, they acted like a bully trying to start trouble,” Cornelius explained. “Someone was looking for an opportunity.”

  “An opportunity to do what, sir?” Sidia asked.

  “If I knew that, I’d be a wealthy seer and not a General,” Cornelius proposed. “Signal the standard bearers to join me.”

  Scipio slowed his mount to a walk. As he approached the first maniple, the two standard bearers fell in off the haunches of his horse, and the guards flanked the banners.

  “Make a hole,” Cornelius commanded. Then, as he rode by the two rows of inexperienced infantrymen, he leaned over and spoke to the Legionaries. “If I have to retreat, I’m depending on you to hold the line. Rah?”

  His voice didn’t carry far. But as Cornelius Scipio moved through the assault lines, a rolling cry of Rah came from the Centuries. It sounded as if the infantrymen were spontaneously cheering their General.

  ***

  Prince Allucius rode with a vengeance and curses on his lips. On either side of him, his cavalry Captains kept pace with the Celtiberi noblemen. And behind the commanders, their standard bearers fought to keep the poles upright during the race through the red gap. And farther back, trumpeters blared notes signaling the cavalry to hold their location.

  “Thank you, Reue,” the Prince prayed to the God of Justice and Death.

  The invocation came from seeing his one thousand heavy cavalrymen waiting in ranks. Across from them, the Romans dangled a pitiful double line of four hundred and eighty heavy infantrymen with a breach in the center of the defensive lines.

  “The scoundrels tempt us with weakness,” Captain Amaina shouted.

  “Was it you who sent the cavalry out early?” Allucius roared back.

  “No, my Prince,” the officer assured him.

  “Somebody did,” Allucius growled.

  Yet, he felt the same way. Obviously, the weak defensive formation of the Legion begged to be trampled and lanced. It cried out for his brave cavalrymen to ride through the first lines, and destroy the light infantry clustered together in the rear. But then the trap became apparent.

  With a new stockade fort anchoring the battlefield, the Romans had placed another five hundred heavy infantrymen there, along with almost two hundred light. And deeper in the valley, a third group of heavies waited to close the door on his cavalry should they fall for the trap.

  “The area between the fort and the rear infantrymen is the killing ground,” his other cavalry officer confirmed, as if reading the Prince’s mind.

  “Kunbiur, did you order the cavalry forward?” Allucius bellowed.

  “I did not, my Prince,” Captain Kunbiur promised.

  As the seven riders reached the valley floor, a lone figure in a helmet with a white plume and white cape, broke away from a collection of mounted men near the stockade. Before the man in white reached the lines of Legion infantrymen, the standards from two companies joined him.

  “They have wisely sent out a negotiator,” Amaina advised. “Perhaps, my Prince, you should accept their surrender and save them the embarrassment of begging.”

  “But first, you should inform him that his General’s tricks wouldn’t work on Celtiberi tribesman,” Kunbiur suggested.

  Allucius slowed his horse, giving him time to weigh his options. To go forward and deal with the negotiator himself, or to send his Captains? It made a difference for one of his status.

  ***

  Sidia fought the urge to break formation. Although he didn’t, he did shout to Cornelius, “General Scipio, I should be by your side.”

  “Remember when you said, you didn’t think of me as reckless?” Cornelius replied. “You didn’t know me when I was younger. You should ask around the next time we’re in Rome.”

  “God Averruncus, protect him,” Sidia prayed to the god who averts calamity.

  His plea came in response as two Celtiberi officers, their two standard bearers, and eight lancers cantered forward to meet Cornelius.

  ***

  “Why are you here on our frontier, Latian?” Captain Kunbiur demanded.

  Before Cornelius could reply, the other inquired.

  “Why do you tempt my cavalrymen with weak formations?” Captain Amaina questioned. “Do you think we’re stupid.”

  Cornelius Scipio reined in and sat, silently, staring straight through the Captains.

  “I’m talking to you, envoy,” Kunbiur snapped.

  His sharp tone caused the mounts of Cornelius’ escorts to prance. It took a few moments for the Legion riders to settle their horses. During the disturbance, Cornelius remained quiet and stationary.

  “Perhaps the Roman’s cut out the tongues of their negotiators,” Amaina proposed. “It does cut down on the small talk.”

  The Celtiberi group laughed at the thought of a mute messenger.

  “He doesn’t talk,” Kunbiur emphasized. “Do you think he bleeds?”

  Sidia Decimia placed a hand on the hilt of his gladius and lifted his heels in preparation to rush in and protect his General. But a wave of Scipio’s hand stopped the bodyguard.

  The nineteen mounted men sat staring at each other until Amaina threatened, “If you don’t want to talk, we will ride you down, and butcher every Latian in the valley.”

  Cornelius raised an arm and swept his hand in a circular motion. In response, he and his escorts began to turn their horses. Halfway around, Cornelius stopped his mount.

  “Tell Prince Allucius that in the morning, I’m taking my Legionaries and his bride back to New Carthage,” he advised. “We’ve already been attacked once on the trail by Celtiberi assassins. Tell your Prince, if I’m attacked again, we will bring forth Hades on every Celtiberi we meet until the end of time.”

  Cornelius kicked his mount, and the beast trotted back towards the Legion lines.

  “Wait,” Kunbiur called, “who are you?”

  Cornelius didn’t reply to the cavalry Captain. But he did order Sidia, “Optio Decimia guard my back. I don’t trust those cowardly, disloyal Celtiberi.”

  “Yes, General Scipio,” Sidia shouted as he galloped across the entourage to put his body between the stunned and confused Captains and the General of all Roman forces in Iberia.

  Kunbiur glanced at Amaina with a pained expression on his face.

  “What do we tell Prince Allucius?” Amaina questioned.

  “That we lost his bride,” Kunbiur proposed. “But what did the Latin General mean by him being attacked by Celtiberi assassins?”

  “Come on, let’s go confess,” Amaina proposed. “I was a good Lieutenant before the promotion.”

  “If we’re lucky just to be demoted,” Kunbiur said. “He may have us shoveling horse manure before sundown.”

  ***

  Cornelius held up three fingers as he passed through first maniple. The two rows collapsed until the inexperienced Legionaries were in their rightful triple ranks. On the other side of the defensive line, he held up two fingers and indicated the compressed defensive formation. Near the stockade, Colonel Quaeso issued orders. An instant later second maniple jogged by Scipio as they moved forward.

  Before the General reached the marching camp, the valley was sealed by a wall of spears and infantry shields. No cavalry would dare attack the triple layer of a Legion assault line.

  “I had swallowed my pride to come here,” Cornelius admitted. “The Celtiberi took Carthaginian coins and deserted my uncle. For their deceit, I’ve a mind to advance across the valley and bleed the pigs.”

  “Sir, we can, and we will,” Titus Quaeso assured him. “But it’ll be a costly fight.”

  With his hands shaking from anger, Cornelius lifted his face to the sky. At first his chest rose and fell rapidly. But the longer he regarded the heavens, the more shallow his breathing became. When his rage finally subsided, he lowered his face and smiled at the Colonel.

  “But I’ll settle for keeping her father’s ransom, and selling Prince Allucius’ bride into slavery,” Cornelius stated before riding into the completed stockade camp.

  Act 5

  Chapter 13 – League of Old Men

  Titus Quaeso passed through the main pavilion, exited the tent, crossed a causeway, and entered the bridal tent. His arrival brought Aurunica and her handmaidens to the sitting area. Accompanying the women was a pleasant aroma of flowers and spices.

  “I want to apologize for the absence of General Scipio,” Quaeso explained. “His temper is still hot. Not having an emotional attachment to the situation, he chose me to deliver an unfortunate message.”

  “Colonel Quaeso, you are always welcome,” Ylli assured him. “Whatever you have to say, we’re ready for it. And honored that General Scipio picked such a distinguished herald.”

  Caught between the message, the platitude, the expressive eyes of the handmaiden, and the heady fragrance, Quaeso hesitated. A moment later, he composed himself and squared his shoulders.

  “In the morning, the Legion detachment will break camp and march for New Carthage,” the Battle Commander announced. “Once in the city, Aurunica from Bastetani will be sold to slavers.”

  The three bridesmaids shouted at once, interrupting the Colonel. Only after Aurunica hushed her attendants did she speak up.

  “What of the ransom my father paid for my freedom?” she inquired.

  “About the silver bars? General Scipio said it wasn’t sufficient to replace, Gnaeus Scipio, the uncle of the General of Iberia.”

  Titus Quaeso stepped back, preparing to leave when Sucra held up an open palm.

  “What of us?” she asked.

  “The bridesmaids will be free to return to their villages,” Quaeso answered before ducking out of the tent.

  ***

  Once alone, Sucra nodded at the tent flap.

  “You questioned Scipio’s generosity and reminded us that his motives are untested,” she said to Aurunica. “After this news, are you ready to honor our sisters and the Goddess Trebaruna.”

  “First we must pray to the Goddess of hearths and mystery for guidance,” Aurunica proposed.

  “We can’t wait for too long,” Ylli warned. “Tomorrow, Scipio will have us heading in the wrong direction.”

  “But can Quaeso be trusted to do the right thing?” Sucra inquired.

  “Contemplation sisters,” Aurunica advised. “Let us pray.”

  The third bridesmaid silently dipped her head in solidarity with Aurunica.

  ***

  During the nightly staff dinner, a rainstorm blew through the valley. The sides of the pavilion flexed tight in gusts and collapsed when the wind subsided.

  “It’s a good night to be inside,” Justus Furia mentioned.

  Cornelius set down his glass and cocked his head in the direction of the Wings’ Tribune.

  “You aren’t wrong,” he said. “But your concept is in error.”

  “How so, General?” Furia asked.

  “As pleasant as it is inside this tent,” Cornelius answered as he stood, “on the defensive line, our Legionaries are wet, cold, and sleeping in mud.”

  Cornelius walked to a servant and took an oiled goatskin tarp from the man. He tossed the wrap over his head, grabbed two wineskins, and made for the exit.

  “Where are you going, sir?” Colonel Quaeso inquired.

  “To share a tonic against the weather with our infantrymen.”

  “I should go with you,” Quaeso volunteered.

  “You stay and entertain the staff. I’ll be back later.”

  While the Colonel remained at the feast, Sidia Decimia sprinted from the General’s private quarters. Racing from the tent, he ran to catch up with Cornelius.

  ***

  No one feels the blessing of the Goddess Miseria like an infantryman on a combat line. And never was her presence felt more acutely than when sleeping in the mud between sessions of standing watch.

  The guard from second maniple, Steed of Aeneas Legion, shifted. The move dumped a fold of cold water down his back.

  “That’ll wake you up,” a voice said from behind the line.

  When the rain started, it doused the open air cookfires. A few creative infantrymen had placed covers over their flames. But rain driven by wind reached under the awnings and drowned those fires. The absence of heat and light left each man wet and cold, and feeling isolated.

  “Who are you?” the Legionary demanded.

  He fumbled his spear before leveling the shaft at the dark shape standing in the rain.

  “Just a staff officer checking the guard positions,” Cornelius answered, by far understating his position. “Can my Optio and I come forward?”

  “Yes, sir,” the Legionary allowed.

  Cornelius and Sidia stepped close to the infantryman.

  “You look miserable,” Cornelius said while handing the guard a wineskin. “A little of this will help cut the cold.”

  “Thank you, sir.” At half a stream, the Legionary lowered the skin and attempted to hand it back. “Sir, that’s really good, I mean excellent, red. You must have taken the wrong container of vino.”

  “No, Legionary, I took exactly the one needed for a night like this. Drink a little to take the chill off. But not so much that you end up on the punishment post.”

  “Look around, sir,” the infantryman urged after he swallowed a second gulp. “Isn’t this punishment enough?”

  “I can’t argue with you on that,” Cornelius agreed.

  After retrieving the wineskin, Cornelius and Sidia moved down the line to the next guard. Along the route, they carefully stepped around sleeping infantrymen.

  Once the visitors were away, the guard’s Centurion slipped up next to him.

  “Do you know who that was?” the combat officer asked.

  “A staff officer,” the infantrymen informed his Centurion.

  “No Legionary. Not just a staff officer,” the Centurion corrected. “That was General Scipio and Optio Decimia, his bodyguard.”

  “What was a General doing out here in this weather?”

  “Obviously, he was delivering vino to his infantrymen.”

  Still damp, and still cold, yet the idea of his General caring enough to share vino with an infantryman warmed the Legionary’s heart.

  ***

  Deep in the night, a soaking wet General and his equally damp bodyguard returned to the pavilion. A couple of low burning braziers provided weak light and a little warmth for their hands.

  “Get some sleep,” Cornelius directed as he rubbed the feeling back into his fingers.

  “Yes, sir,” Sidia replied, “once you’re secured in your quarters.”

  “I’m surrounded by Legionaries,” Cornelius remarked, “how much safer can I be?”

  “Asfáleia, sir,” Sidia mentioned.

  “Asfáleia?” Cornelius asked.

  “It’s a Greek word Jace, rather, Tribune Kasia uses,” Sidia replied. “He likes it because it has a lot of meanings but all of them revolve around protection. For instance, safety, security, insurance, assurance, safely locked, and safeness, as in the act of being safe. Understand?”

  “I get the message,” Cornelius admitted. “If you’re going to tuck me in, hurry up. I’m beat.”

  They crossed the meeting room. Before entering the narrow passageway to the General’s private chamber, Sidia reached out and gripped Cornelius’ arm. A gentle pull backward stopped Scipio in midstride.

  Moving forward alone, Sidia entered the smaller tent. He found two more braziers burning low and casting pools of light on the simple furnishings. Before he ran to catch up with Cornelius and join the tour of the assault line, Sidia had practiced his version of asfáleia.

  A brass candle holder on the corner of the camp desk had an unbroken trail of beeswax connecting the metal rim to the desktop. A leg of the desk chair remained on a specific edge of a bronze coin. On the bed, the edges of a folded silk scarf retained the twisted peaks instilled by Sidia. But the two chests that carried the General’s belongings were out of alignment. Four pieces of straw on the floor marked the original corners, but not anymore.

  Sidia drew his gladius as he rushed across the room. On his last step before reaching the chests, he swung the flat of the blade as if it was a club. Sweeping behind the containers, the steel connected with an object.

  “Ugh,” a high-pitched voice emitted.

  Along with the vocalization of pain, a black clad figure popped up and attempted to jump the chest. But the swing had been hard, and while a larger person might have absorbed the blow, the smaller body simply collapsed over the chests.

  Not sure what he was dealing with, Sidia rapped the assassin on the back of the head. Leaving the black clad figure disoriented and draped over a chest, the bodyguard searched the corners of the chamber for another assailant.

  Once sure the assassin was working alone, Sidia called softly, “General Scipio, you have a visitor.”

  ***

  Cornelius Scipio balanced the serpent dagger on his palm and admired the wavy curves of the blade.

  “It’s a fine weapon,” he declared. “And your description is apt Optio Decimia. It’s not good for slicing meat or chopping kindling.”

  Sidia finished using the silk scarf to tie the black clad figure to the chair. Standing, he reached out and gripped the hood.

  “Sir, with your permission?” he requested.

  “Please. I’m curious about our assassin,” Cornelius informed him. “And who wanted me dead.”

  Sidia lifted the hood and revealed Sucra, the bridesmaid and Sidia’s former dinner partner.