“Young lady, would you like to explain this?” Cornelius inquired.

  He tapped the blade on his palm.

  “I am a slayer. A bringer of death to enemies of the Goddess Trebaruna,” Sucra hissed.

  “Sir, perhaps it was the bump on the head,” Sidia offered. “It seems she doesn’t realize the situation.”

  “I know my fate full well,” Sucra boasted. “I am ready to die for my Goddess.”

  “Optio Decimia, before I awaken the First Century, please clarify for the young lady the reality of what is about to happen,” Cornelius urged.

  Sidia squatted so he was at eye level with the assassin.

  “You can continue to spout fanatic phrases right up until we put you on the cross.”

  “I am ready to die for my Goddess.”

  “Yes, we heard you,” Sidia assured her. “But you won’t be alone on the wood. Aurunica, Ylli, and the silent one will be joining you. At your feet, we’ll cut the throats of your chaperones, your drivers, and your other servants.”

  “But they had nothing to do with this,” Sucra protested.

  “You attempted to murder the Prorogatio of Iberia,” Sidia accused. “And you claim it was just you and the Goddess Trebaruna who planned it? That’s not likely. Without further understanding, we’ll let First Century handle it going forward. But know this, everyone in or connected with the bridal party will be taken into custody. General, I think we have room in the donkey pen to hold them until morning.”

  “Optio, it’s wet, and muddy, if that’s the word for what’s mixed in with the soil, plus the wind’s up and it’s cold tonight,” Cornelius pointed out.

  “Yes sir, and none too good for a band of ungrateful thieves and murderers.”

  “We aren’t thieves or murderers,” Sucra snapped.

  “Perhaps, we can come to some other arrangement,” Cornelius proposed. “If I had more to base my judgement on. Let’s start with your party not being thieves and murderers. Present company excluded.”

  “The Goddess of the Hearth and Mysteries calls to a select group of women in each village,” Sucra divulged. “When our men go off to war or raiding, we protect the citizens against marauders.”

  “That explains the serpent dagger and you as the slayer,” Cornelius guessed. “What about the others?”

  “Aurunica is the priestess of our cult,” Sucra informed the General. “Ylli the face should we need a distraction. The unnamed one is our recorder. She listens and remembers, but rarely speaks. And I am the Slayer. You know my duties.”

  “So far, you’ve spared the lives of your servants,” Cornelius allowed.

  “Wait,” Sidia commented. “At dinner, you said you were all from different villages.”

  “And we are,” Sucra confirmed, “and from different cults of Trebaruna. But we were selected to travel with Aurunica on an important mission.”

  “To kill Prince Allucius,” Cornelius concluded. “I might save you the trouble and kill him myself.”

  “No. General Scipio please, no,” Sucra begged.

  ***

  It was the first instance where she had shown any real emotion.

  “If you aren’t here to kill the Prince,” Sidia asked. “Why are you here?”

  “To protect Aurunica and the Prince and stop anyone from interfering in the wedding.”

  “Like me?” Cornelius inquired.

  “Yes, General Scipio,” Sucra confirmed. “Much to my dismay, someone exactly like you.

  “Why is this marriage so important?” Cornelius questioned.

  “The Celtiberi tribe is landlocked,” Sucra explained. “They need a harbor for trade and fishing. If they move directly west, they’ll get into a protracted fight with the Edetani and the Contestani. That’ll leave them open to an attack by the Ilergetes from the north.”

  “Another of my favorite tribes,” Cornelius said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Go ahead.”

  “But if the Celtiberi attack to the southeast, they’ll trip an agreement between the Oretani, and my people, the Bastetani,” Sucra described. “The only way to prevent all-out war, is for a Bastetani to marry into the Celtiberi Tribe. Aurunica can open trade routes that will benefit everyone and prevent a massive loss of life.”

  “And keep your men at home,” Sidia stated.

  “Yes,” Sucra confirmed.

  “Untie her and send her back to her people,” Cornelius ordered.

  “I don’t understand,” Sucra admitted.

  “The General doesn’t want to throw people into the mud and then post some poor Legionaries to guard you,” Sidia told her. “But remember these two things. If you come within an arms distance of the General ever again, I will cut you down. And then, I’ll personally direct a Legion assault line through your hometown. We will kill every man, woman, and child as well as the livestock.”

  “I’m keeping the serpent dagger,” Cornelius told her. “Now go before I change my mind.”

  Walking stiffly, maybe from nerves, or from the blows by the gladius, Sucra marched from the chamber. With the failure of her mission, the future looked bleaker than before the attempt.

  ***

  Sleep evaded Cornelius. Indecision twisted his gut, as his mind remained undecided. A war between eastern tribes would bring havoc to the region. And the weakened state of the local tribes would create opportunities for a Carthaginian army of western Iberians. Contrasted with a deep primal need to avenge his uncle and father and his wounded pride, the twenty-five-year-old felt almost crushed under the weight of the obligation.

  “He was twenty years old,” Sidia whispered from the passageway.

  “How long have you been there?” Cornelius inquired.

  “Since I changed into dry clothes, General Scipio,” Sidia told him.

  Cornelius paced the chamber twice more before stopping and asking, “Who was twenty years old?”

  “King Alexander of Macedon was twenty when his father was assassinated. Tribune Kasia told me about him. After the death of his father, the new King murdered his rivals, then campaigned across Macedonia and Greece before arriving at the gates of Corinth. In the Greek city, Alexander convinced the old men from the League of Corinth to let him lead the Greek army against Darius III. And, as recorded by historians, he was very successful against the King of Kings.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” Cornelius questioned.

  “What else is the Senate of Rome but a league of old men,” Sidia proposed. “And what is Iberia but a collection of unlawful kingdoms?”

  “I can’t wage war against all of them.”

  “Sir, there’s only one battlefield you need to conquer,” Sidia offered. “Find victory on that one, and the rest are simple problems of logistics.”

  Cornelius stretched out on his bed and stared at the dark ceiling of his chamber.

  “How long until daybreak?” he asked.

  “Not long, General,” Sidia replied. “Do we march backward to New Carthage and prepare for a long siege? Or do we march forward to Albarracín and witness a marriage?”

  “That skirmish, Optio Decimia, is still being contested.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  ***

  A short while later, a Junior Tribune dashed into the passageway from the pavilion.

  “General Scipio. A Celtiberi in ceremonial armor and two runners are outside the stockade walls,” the youth shouted. “The duty Optio wants to know if he should open the gates for them, sir.”

  “Sidia, I asked Jupiter for guidance,” Cornelius mentioned as he swung his legs off the bed. “Do you suppose this is the sign?”

  “You won’t know sir, if you don’t order the gates opened.”

  “Yes, of course. Tribune, open the gates for the Celtiberi and have him escorted to my pavilion.”

  “Yes, General Scipio.”

  “Optio Decimia. Help buckle me into my ceremonial armor,” Cornelius instructed. “For whatever Jupiter has sent me, I want to look like a General. Not a sleep deprived politician.

  “An excellent choice, sir,” Sidia acknowledged.

  Chapter 14 – Of a Priest and an Assassin

  The ceremonial armor glowed in the rays of the rising sun. Although the storm had passed, the ground was muddy. To remain unsoiled, Cornelius waited on the platform in front of his pavilion. And while he remained clean, it wasn’t an apt description of a rider and a pair of runners approaching from the main gate.

  Wet dirt, tossed up by the horse’s hoofs, clung to the animal’s legs and underbelly. Additionally, the mud coated two men holding onto straps on either side of the saddle. Pulled along, they easily kept pace with the horse even as their legs churned faster than was comfortable.

  “It’s a light infantrymen’s trick, sir. They’re using the horse to pull them at a faster rate and for a longer distance than they could without the aid,” Sidia whispered to Cornelius. Then aside, he warned the Legionnaires of the First Century. “Watch those two. If they draw weapons, ignore the blades, and guard the General.”

  “We know what to do, Optio,” a veteran infantryman assured him.

  “A naked blade to a Legionary is a challenge,” Sidia related. “I’m reminding you, so you don’t attack the man and ignore your duty. Rah?”

  “Rah, Optio Decimia,” several First Century veterans responded.

  “Do you really think the Celtiberi would only send three men to kill me?” Cornelius inquired.

  “Three or a thousand, General,” Sidia answered. “It only takes one to remove the head of an eagle.”

  “So noted,” Cornelius agreed. “Those two hanging onto the saddle, they look familiar.”

  “They should, sir,” Sidia advised. “They’re the arrogant Captains from yesterday’s meeting.”

  ***

  Cornelius saluted as the rider reined in at the pavilion.

  “Welcome. I am Cornelius Scipio, General of the Iberian Legions and Prorogatio of Iberia.”

  The rider returned the salute. As he acknowledged Cornelius, the runners stepped away from the flanks of the horse. They saluted as well.

  “I am Allucius, Commander of the King’s cavalry,” the rider exclaimed, “Prince of the Celtiberi, and fiancé of Aurunica from Bastetani.”

  Cornelius dipped his head in understanding before inquiring, “Have you come to say goodbye to me or to your bride?”

  The question rattled the young Prince. His arm shook, jiggling the reins in his hand, and as if he had a fever, he licked his lips to replace the moisture.

  Cornelius assumed the same blank stare, and far off expression he’d used during the first meeting.

  After a long, strained pause, Allucius announced, “They have something to say.”

  The two Captains braced, and after collecting as much dignity as possible considering their unarmored and filthy state, the pair saluted again.

  “I am Kunbiur, Captain of the King’s Cavalry,” one officer introduced himself. “I offer my apologies for my bad manners and my insults.”

  Cornelius looked at the man’s mud encased feet and legs, and the splatters on his tunic. After inspecting that officer, he turned his attention to the other cavalryman.

  “And I am Amaina, General Scipio,” the other stated. “A Captain of the King’s Cavalry and I want to beg your forgiveness for my actions during our meeting. And it goes without saying, my rude behavior.”

  “Well, that’s that,” Cornelius declared. He extended his arm and pointed back down the road. “There’s the gate. Thanks for coming.”

  Cornelius was half turned when Allucius pleaded, “General Scipio. We need to talk. Or rather, I need to speak with you.”

  Squaring his shoulders to the Prince, Cornelius informed him, “Yesterday, I rode out to talk and wasn’t given the opportunity. Today, you ride into my camp and apologize. And now, I’m supposed to forgive and welcome you with open arms?”

  “I might point out that I’ve put aside your remark about the Celtiberi being cowardly and disloyal,” Allucius interjected. “Can we not come to some sort of truce?”

  There were three possible ways to end the adversarial exchange. Should Cornelius Scipio walk away, in all likelihood, the action would trigger an armed conflict. At his core, Cornelius welcomed the fight and an opportunity to avenge his uncle. Another possibility was to hear the Prince’s side and glean some insight into the Celtiberi as an enemy or an ally.

  Or, most satisfying, Cornelius thought while looking in the direction of the red limestone pass, he could order the deaths of the Prince and his Captains then march on the cavalry. From yesterday’s example, he doubted the Celtiberi cavalry were prepared for an attack. In his soul, family pride screamed for revenge.

  But just as he started to order Allucius’ death, Sidia’s words came to him, “There’s only one battlefield you need to conquer. Find victory on that one, and the rest are simple problems of logistics.”

  Gritting his teeth against the urge to murder the Celtiberi, Cornelius addressed the First Centurion, “Centurion Rosato take Captains Kunbiur and Amaina and allow them to wash. Then supply them with clean tunics. When they’re presentable, have the Captains join Prince Allucius and me in my pavilion.”

  “Yes, sir,” the veteran combat officer acknowledged. “Captains, this way please.”

  “We’re talking?” Allucius inquired.

  “Not out here,” Cornelius replied, looking up at the mounted Prince. “It’s never a good idea for men to look up at, or to look down on, other men during negotiations.”

  As the Centurion and the Captains walked away, the Prince dismounted and followed Cornelius into the pavilion.

  ***

  Pitchers of wine and ale, along with glasses, were placed on the table. After serving, the aides faded back against the far side of the pavilion and out of hearing range.

  “What we say should be private,” Cornelius submitted. After Allucius agreed, he continued. “Yesterday, your cavalry charged into another tribe’s territory. They gathered in ranks, then sat leaderless, aimless, and idle until you arrived. Why?”

  Of all the possible topics, Allucius hadn’t planned on discussing the failings of his command structure. He almost changed the subject until he noted the intensity in the eyes of the Latian General.

  “At dawn, a priest of Bandua held a sacrifice and invited the Lieutenants of the cavalry,” Allucius explained. “Somehow, during the prayers to the God who protects cities and towns, the junior officers got it into their heads that you came as an invader.”

  “But they didn’t attack,” Cornelius remarked.

  “Their maneuver created a defensive formation to block the pass,” Allucius described. “Unless attacked, they would have remained in ranks while waiting for me and their Captains.”

  “That explains the cavalrymen. Why were your senior officers so insolent?”

  “I’m sure you noticed my hesitation to discuss this,” Allucius said. “The night before last, Kunbiur and Amaina attended a dinner with a priest. I didn’t know they were primed to mistrust, and yes, to mistreat you. To my horror, I sent them to speak with a man I thought was your emissary, and not you in person.”

  “You know there’s a common thread running through this situation,” Cornelius proposed.

  “It took half the night to identify the, as you call him, the thread,” Allucius stated. “His name is Aluth. And the priest of Bandua was the speaker at the dinner and the one who officiated at the morning sacrifice.”

  “Is he against your marriage to Aurunica for personal reasons?” Cornelius asked. “Or, just opposed to prosperity for your people?”

  “Aluth is a leader in the Celtiberi first alliance. He and his types believe the Celtiberi culture is superior and should remain pure and unpolluted by other tribes.”

  Cornelius refilled the Prince’s cup. As he poured, he locked eyes with Sidia, before shifting his focus, indicating the rear of the tent. The bodyguard stepped away, about faced, and marched for the back exit of the pavilion.

  “I understand the personality,” Cornelius informed the Prince. “There’s a politician in Rome who believes the Latin culture is the only civilized one. We’ve debated on other subjects, but every time at its core, Cato and I tangle over the philosophy of change.”

  “But you’re a Republic General. Everyone knows you are, and forgive me, arrogant and unbending in your Latian ways.”

  Cornelius took sips of wine to delay revealing his beliefs. Finally, he placed the cup on the tabletop.

  “You know that my homeland is under attack by Hannibal Barca,” he divulged. “Every Latin commander who has gone against the Carthaginian has suffered defeat. It appears the old, strict ways no longer work. I’m learning to embrace other cultures. Once I have the skills of Hannibal, I’ll command an army as diverse as his, and I will defeat him.”

  “Then you understand?” Allucius questioned.

  “I understand I can’t build Legions if the eastern tribes are warring with each other. I understand the Carthaginians will be emboldened by my failure. And I understand the wedding must take place to calm the situation. Is there something I missed?”

  “One thing,” Allucius replied. “You understand why I can’t punish Aluth.”

  “It would create a breach between the ruling family and the priesthood,” Cornelius guessed.

  Before he could say more, Captains Kunbiur and Amaina, along with Centurion Rosato marched through the front entrance. At the same instance Aurunica, the silent one, Ylli, and Sucra strolled into the main pavilion from a back entrance.

  ***

  Allucius and Cornelius stood, faced the bridal party, and hoisted their glasses. Aurunica and her bridesmaids stopped to listen.

  “To the marriage of Aurunica of Bastetani and Allucius, Prince of the Celtiberi. May their joining bring prosperity to both tribes,” Cornelius announced. Then he offered. “To express my best wishes, as a wedding gift, I am presenting the silver Aurunica’s father paid for her release. Silver increases perception and helps regulate emotions. Things a married couple often need. And silver can be polished to a mirror shine allowing one to see themself from outside the body. May you both be temperate with each other and look upon the other with kindness all the days of your life.”