As Cornelius and Allucius drank a toast, Aurunica and her bridesmaids curtsied at the generous gift. When they started forward, Sidia hooked Sucra’s arm and pulled her aside.

  He handed her an object wrapped in a roll of fine leather.

  “I believe, Slayer,” the bodyguard told her, “shortly, you’ll learn where the serpent dagger will do the most good.”

  Sucra batted her eyes at Sidia, then winked, and rushed to catch up with the bridal party.

  Chapter 15 – Good to be Home

  The last day of Priest Aluth’s life, he sacrificed and schemed, while publicly soliciting the Gods to bless the marriage of Prince Allucius and the Priestess Aurunica. As Cornelius Scipio watched the bridesmaids escort the beautiful bride in her black wedding dress, the final day of the Priest’s life dwindled to a conclusion. For not long after sunset, the Slayer would remove him and his threat to the marital bliss of the newlywed couple and the commercial result of their union.

  As Cornelius Scipio was witnessing the marriage ceremony in the town of Albarracín, a warship backstroked to the north beach at New Carthage. When the keel touched the shallows, half the oarsmen jumped into the surf and pushed the quinquereme onto dry land. Once the ship settled, Jace Kasia leaped from the stern of the warship. A moment later, his bundles landed beside him.

  “Good to be home,” he mentioned to the empty shoreline.

  Then Jace realized he only used the phrase because his Legion was stationed at the island city. He’d have said the same thing if Wings of Nortus was positioned at Tarraco, or Rome, or on the Island of Crete. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized the emotional connection he had to the mixed-use Legion.

  Jace waved to the sailor who threw the luggage. Then he picked up the bags and marched towards a hill on the far side of the road. Four men slept under a tarp. Farther up the slope, a cocked onager baked in the hot sun.

  “Firewood?” Jace inquired.

  “Are you blind?” one of the dozing men answered. “Can’t you see those stones and the weapon? We’re a shore defense installation.”

  None of the four bothered to open their eyes to see who was speaking. Jace dropped his bags and climbed to the weapon.

  “A good torsion cable,” he announced. After tapping the taut horsehair and sinew cable, he observed. “In another day, this will all be firewood.”

  “What are you talking about?” one of the men challenged.

  Coming to his feet, he took a step towards Jace. Then he stopped short.

  “Senior Tribune Kasia, I didn’t recognize you,” the artilleryman said.

  “Save your weak excuse and tell me why this weapon is sitting under tension?”

  “We were told that we’d have a drill, today,” the Legionary explained. “So, we prepared the catapult.”

  “And left the beams to warp, the pins to loosen, and the cable to stretch beyond its usefulness?”

  “It’s taken longer than expected to start the drill, sir,” the Legionary offered.

  “How often do you hold drills?” Jace inquired.

  “Never, sir. Although we prepare every other day.”

  The answer troubled Jace. But he’d rectify that later. At the moment, he needed to save the catapult.

  “I want this onager dismantled, the beams rubbed down with olive oil, and allowed to rest,” Jace ordered. As he spoke, the other three crewmen joined him on top of the hill. “And while it’s in pieces, you four will carve new pins to assure the fit is tight.”

  “But we have a drill coming up, sir,” one insisted.

  “Do you enjoy digging latrines?” Jace warned.

  “No, sir,” all four replied.

  “Then follow directions,” Jace said.

  He walked down the hill, picked up his bags, and marched towards the gates of New Carthage.

  ***

  Senior Centurion Ceradin put down the pen and stared at the parchment.

  “How am I supposed to write a report when there’s nothing to report?” he complained.

  From the reception area, Jace answered, “You start with getting out of the office and inspecting your men.”

  Ceradin jumped up in surprise. The last time he checked, the staff had gone for their midday meal. The headquarters of Wings Legion should be deserted.

  “Senior Tribune Kasia am I glad to see you,” the senior combat officer said when Jace came into the office. “Without support of a senior staff officer, I’m at a loss.”

  “Where is First Centurion Turibas, Centurion Usico, and Tribune Furia?”

  “General Scipio took them, our cavalry, and half a maniple of Velites on an expedition,” Ceradin explained. “He left a few days ago.”

  “Just a half maniple from Wings and most of our command staff,” Jace summed up. “That’s an odd detachment for a General, even for Cornelius.”

  Ceradin flinched at the easy reference to the General’s style.

  “He also took half of Steed of Aeneas’ heavy infantry and their command staff,” the Senior Centurion added as if to provide cover for Scipio.

  “Let me guess. He took the Lady Aurunica to her wedding and didn’t want to take a large force. But for pomp and ceremony, he wanted two standard bearers.”

  “I believe that was his thinking, Senior Tribune.”

  “Now that I have an overview of the situation,” Jace allowed. “Tell me why you’re here, in the office, and not walking the positions of our onagers and bolt throwers. Or checking the guard posts of our Velites.”

  Ceradin’s shoulders slumped, and his chin fell. Jace recognized the posture of a defeated man.

  “I understand, Senior Centurion, that you’re an Iberian officer,” Jace sympathized with the senior combat officer. “And I realize that a lot of Republic officers and Legionaries resist your orders.”

  “That’s not the issue, sir.”

  Between the undisciplined onager crew, the dejected Senior Centurion, and having rumors control his artillery emplacements, left Jace in a quandary.

  “Then what is the issue?” he inquired.

  “Sir, I don’t want to get you in trouble,” Ceradin proposed. “Or cause more issues for Wings Legion.”

  Before he questioned the Iberian further, Jace walked to the outer office and retrieved his bags. Then, he pulled out his best armor and a new Battle Commander’s helmet. The red horsehair comb still stiff and bright from the drying rack.

  “Sir, is that a…”

  Interrupting and avoiding the combat officer’s question, Jace instructed, “Help me strap on my armor.”

  Moments later, Colonel Kasia finished transferring his skinning knife to a custom sheath on the armored skirt. Then he held the helmet, identifying him as a Battle Commander, under one arm and asked the hard question, “Why aren’t you in command of Wings of Nortus Legion?”

  “General Scipio left Colonel Nabars from Trumpet of Aeneas in charge of New Carthage,” Ceradin informed Jace. “Nabars, like me, is Iberian and I assumed we would get along. But Metie, his Senior Tribune is an Etruscan. He felt that Wings Legion wasn’t a true Legion and that we needed the guidance of a Republic officer. They marched their Centurions over and took command of our light infantrymen, the artillerymen, and confined me and the junior staff officers to our headquarters.”

  “Senior Centurion Ceradin. You will go and interrupt the midday meal of my Junior Tribunes,” Jace growled, barely keeping control of his temper. “Send them around New Carthage. I want every combatant, animal handler, servant, and driver in Wings Legion assembled outside the main gate before I arrive. And Ceradin, I don’t plan to dither. So, they better hurry.”

  “Yes, Colonel Kasia,” Ceradin responded while saluting.

  He ran from the office with fire in his eyes and a smile on his face. Seemingly contradictory expressions unless one understood the emotions of a combat officer. Being relieved of duty and parked in an office had been hard on the man. But with the return of his Senior Tribune. No, that was wrong. With the return of his Battle Commander, Ceradin’s authority had been given back and he was exuberant.

  ***

  Junior Tribunes from Wings Legion ran or rode to every part of New Carthage and delivered the order to assemble, immediately. From the defensive walls and installations around the island city, onagers and bolt thrower crews raced from their weapons. Velites threw down shovels or other tools and left whatever undesirable job they had been assigned. Wagon drivers, animal handlers, and servants shuffled to the main gates and got in line behind the officers, the Velites, and twenty heavy infantrymen from First Century. They had been left behind to heal injuries and to guard the headquarters of the Legion. Everyone waited impatiently for their senior officer. But it wasn’t Jace Kasia who came through the portal.

  “What’s the meaning of this,” Senior Tribune Metie demanded. He reined in hard. Hard enough that the front hoofs of his horse came off the ground. And moments later, five heavy infantrymen from Trumpet jogged through the gates. With shields and spears to enforce his authority, Metie threatened. “Ceradin. I’ll have you on the punishment post for this act of mutiny. The rest of you get back to your jobs.”

  “I am the Senior Centurion of Wings Legion, and you will address me as such,” Ceradin reminded him.

  “And I’m a Senior Tribune,” Metie began. But a tug on his boot stopped the rebuke and made him look down.

  Jace Kasia allowed his hand to linger on the boot as if preparing to pull Matie off the mount.

  “But I am Colonel Kasia, Battle Commander of Wings of Nortus Legion. Why are you addressing my formation?” Jace inquired. Without taking his eyes off Metie, Jace asked. “Senior Centurion Ceradin. Did you invite the senior staff officer from Trumpet of Aeneas to give a speech to my Legion?”

  “Colonel Kasia, I did not,” Ceradin assured him.

  “Well, I know I didn’t,” Jace declared. “Metie. Be a good lad and run along. Oh, and tell Colonel Nabars I’ll call on him once I’ve finished an inspection of my Legion.”

  Matie started to argue. But the heavy infantrymen from First Century Wings Legion jogged to Jace and placed their shields between the two officers.

  “Sir, it’s good to have you back,” a Legionary said with a quick turn of his head.

  “It’s good to be home,” Jace replied.

  Then, ignoring the Senior Tribune from Trumpet, Jace marched to the front of his formation and bellowed, “Wings Legion.”

  As if released from bondage, the specialty Legion roared back, “Wings Legions.”

  ***

  In a Legion that had been browbeaten, overworked, insulted, and generally abused, the healing wouldn’t come from cuddling.

  “That onager is filthy,” Jace informed the crew and the section Centurion. “I want it disassembled. And the parts and pins oiled. Only after Senior Centurion Ceradin inspects it for dry spots, will you reassemble it. Rah.”

  “Rah, sir,” the artillerymen acknowledged.

  Halfway down the hill, Ceradin inquired, “You aren’t going easy on them. If anything, you’re more demanding than Metie.”

  “To weak officers, fear means respect,” Jace answered. “I can be tough on the men because we are Wings Legions. And they know I only want the best from them.”

  “I can’t argue that, sir,” Ceradin stated.

  “After we inspect the onagers on the south wall,” Jace directed, “I’m going to visit Colonel Nabars. You get back to each position and inspect the work.”

  At the bottom of the hill, five veteran Legionaries followed Jace and five trailed Ceradin. With bodyguards present, the command staff of Wings Legion wouldn’t be removed if Metie decided to try.

  ***

  At the villa serving as the headquarters for Trumpet of Aeneas, Jace was stopped by infantrymen from Trumpet’s First Century.

  “Sir, you can go in, but your Legionaries must remain here,” a Optio instructed.

  “Colonel don’t go in that house,” a Wings Legionary warned. “We can’t protect you from here.”

  Jace hung back so his voice only reached his five guards.

  “I’ll tell you a secret,” he divulged to the veterans. “A couple of weeks ago, I was locked in a hillside fortress by the War Chief of the Ilergetes Tribe. He couldn’t hold me. Do you think Trumpet can?”

  “No, sir,” another infantryman answered.

  “Wait here,” Jace ordered. “I’ll be back, one way or another.”

  ***

  Battle Commander Nabars, Trumpet’s Standard Bearer Caldur, and Senior Tribune Metie stood next to a table. Displayed in miniature was the city of New Carthage, the docks, the bays, and the causeway.

  “Gentlemen, pardon the intrusion,” Jace greeted the trio. He stepped into the main room and took off his helmet. “Colonel Nabars, I apologize for the delay in letting you know I was back.”

  “You should arrest him for mutiny, sir,” Metie asserted.

  “That would not be advisable,” Jace insisted.

  “And why is that Senior Tribune Kasia?” Nabars asked, being sure to emphasize the rank.

  “For two reasons,” Jace told him. “The rank is Colonel Kasia by order of General Scipio. If you don’t believe me, ask the General.”

  “Unfortunately, he is away,” Nabars reported. “What’s the second reason?”

  “Your artillery is not available to defend the city,” Jace informed him. “Until I allow the crews to resemble the onagers and bolt throwers, the weapons are nothing except carefully shaped beams.”

  “This never happened under my command,” Metie boasted. “I maintained our long-range defenses. Not one was out of action, ever.”

  “That’s true,” Jace agreed. “And to keep the artillerymen alert, Senior Tribune Metie floated rumors of pending drills. Of course, he never ran the training, that would take leadership. But it did serve to lessen the readiness of the crews. And as he boasted, he never allowed the crews to break down their weapons and do maintenance. It’s a good thing I got back when I did. Another two weeks of stupid, and your ranged weapons would fail during an attack.”

  Metie stepped towards Jace with his hands curled into fists.

  “Before you take another step,” Jace commented. “Have you ever been in a fighting circle?”

  “You can’t talk to me like that,” the Senior Tribune proclaimed.

  None of the commanders of Trumpet Legion had seen Jace move his arms. Yet, when he finished talking, a thin skinning knife appeared in his hand, and he began cleaning his fingernails.

  “The Spartans before they go into battle clean their nails, and comb and braid their hair,” Jace described. “I’ve always thought it showed their lack of fear and displayed supreme contempt for their enemy. Don’t you agree?”

  When faced with the truth that he was no match for Jace Kasia, Metie stepped back to the map table.

  “By early tonight, all the catapults and bolt throwers will be oiled, repaired, and assembled,” Jace promised. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve inspections to make. Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

  Jace left in such a hurry, Trumpet’s Battle Commander, Standard Bearer, and Senior Tribune stared at the doorway as if expecting Kasia to come back.

  He didn’t, but from the courtyard outside, Jace shouted, “Wings Legion.”

  Beyond the walls surrounding the house, five voices replied, “Wings Legion.”

  ***

  With his five guards in tow, Jace turned down a street, heading for the north wall. After being hard on the artilleryman, he wanted to go by each position and praise their work.

  Part way along the block, and in the yard of a big house, an old man spoke to a youth. To the Legionaries, it was gibberish. But Jace had served in the land of the Numidia and understood the language.

  “You must remain patient,” the old man advised.

  “I’m sick of this place,” the youth insisted. “I demand to go home to my father’s house.”

  “Soon, my Chief. We’ll make arrangements soon.”

  Jace stopped, pivoted, and pointed at the pair.

  “Seize the boy and the man,” he ordered. “But don’t hurt them.”

  The Legionaries jumped the short garden wall. The old man and the boy were herded as if sheep, and quickly corralled by the big Legion shields.

  “King Masinissa or King Syphax?” Jace asked.

  “Master, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the old man lied in Iberian.

  Switching to Numidia, Jace warned, “Tell me the truth. Or I’ll take the boy’s right hand. He’ll never throw a spear from a horse and will never lead a war band.”

  The old one shivered with indecision. Seeing the confusion, the boy puffed up his chest, and addressed Jace.

  “I am the nephew of King Masinissa,” the boy announced. “Friend of Carthage, enemy of Rome until the day I die. I am Shuphet.”

  “No, my Chief,” the old man screamed. He threw his frail body between Jace and Shuphet.

  “Very commendable, Grandfather,” Jace granted. “But I have no interest in a dead hostage. That is how you got here, isn’t it?”

  “Chief Shuphet was in New Carthage visiting. He was a guest of General Mago Barca when you Latians came over the walls.”

  “We’re pretty good at ruining people’s vacations,” Jace jested. “Legionaries. Three of you take them to headquarters.”

  “Sir, Trumpet is just two streets from here,” a Legionary suggested.

  “King Masinissa is the ruler of the Massylii and a great friend of Carthage,” Jace told him. “I fully intend to have our Legion, Wings of Nortus, hand this prize over to General Scipio. Certainly not Trumpet.”

  “We’ll escort them,” three infantrymen volunteered. “They’ll be safe until you’re ready to present them to General Scipio.”

  “I’m headed for the north wall,” Jace told the two remaining guards. “And we’ve got a lot of ground to cover before dark.”

  “Wings Legion, sir,”

  “Wings Legions,” Jace confirmed.

  Act 6

  Chapter 16 – Storm of Ink