From the woods, Jace lifted his arm. Sighting along the top of his fist, he proposed, “It’d be a long flight, but I could do it.”

  “Do what, sir?” a cavalryman inquired.

  “Nothing,” Cretan Archer Kasia lied.

  Mandonius ran from cookfire to cookfire kicking and shouting at his cavalrymen. Not long after the messenger arrived, the entire compliment of eight hundred riders galloped towards the fighting.

  “That’s considerate of them,” Jace commented as he walked his horse out of the tree line.

  “What’s considerate, Colonel?”

  “They left us burning branches,” Jace declared. “Everyone, take fire. Toss any loose valuables into wagons then destroy the camp and burn the city.”

  In short order, whisps of smoke from burning tents and flaming buildings drifted into the sky.

  ***

  Outside the walls of the compound, the spearmen reestablished their defensive positions. Meanwhile, inside the house, King Indibilis stormed around the great room.

  “Yesterday, my Captains told me the boy General was sending us gifts,” he shouted. “Obviously as a means to garner favor before we negotiate for my daughters.”

  Indibilis kicked a wicker basket. The container of woolen yarn flew up chest high. It tumbled causing balls of yarn to spill out and unspool. In the blink of an eye, streamers of yarn covered the floor as if spider webs. In a fit of rage, the King of the Ilergetes kicked at the thin lines of fiber.

  The residents, staff, and neighbors, who sought shelter in the compound, huddled against the walls.

  “And now,” the King growled while trying to untangle his foot from the yarn, “I learn my army is being driven back to my headquarters. And no one has thought to contact my brother.”

  “Sir, we sent a courier for the War Chief,” a Captain told him. “He should be here shortly with the cavalry.”

  Before the tribe’s War Chief arrived, the sounds of steel on steel, shields on shields carried into the house. Moments after the fighting reached the compound, a member of the King’s guard rushed into the room.

  “Sir, you need to go,” he announced.

  “I’ve got walls and thousands of spearmen outside,” Indibilis challenged. “Why would I move?”

  “Sir, the Captain said to inform you that using the compound as a defensive point has failed,” the guard told him. “The Legionaries are peeling us away from the bricks and doing damage. The War Chiefs feel we need a solid line to stop the attack. And before the Republic infantry comes over the walls, you need to be away from here.”

  “Where’s my brother and the cavalry?” Indibilis complained as he took his helmet and ran to where his guards waited. “We’ll ride to the rear and create a fallback position.”

  Indibilis mounted. A moment later, he led his fifty bodyguards out through the gates. As he made the turn towards the east, he noted smoke rising into the sky. Behind him, Legionaries scaled the walls of the compound and dropped into the courtyard. With the enemy close and a battle on his mind, the King couldn’t be bothered with the source of the smoke.

  ***

  Cornelius saw his infantrymen climb the brick walls. Not an easy task while lugging a big infantry shield, but enough did to chase the last defenders from the compound. And although overjoyed to see the walls taken, he was more excited by the second retreat of the Ilergetes assault line.

  “Sir, we’ve taken the compound,” a Junior Tribune reported. “Colonel Nabars wants to know if we should hold the advance here. The house will be good for your negotiations.”

  “I know a poet,” Cornelius said to the junior staff officer. “Quintus Ennius gets emotional about a few things, mostly injustice and misinterpretations of history. That’s because the spirit of Homer speaks to him.”

  “Yes, sir,” the youth said although he was confused by the statement. “General Scipio, sir. What about the compound?”

  “In all the years I’ve known Ennius, I’ve never seen him shed tears,” Cornelius continued as if the junior staff officer hadn’t asked the question again. “I don’t suppose for a man, who trades in emotional speeches, it’s easy to cry.”

  “Sir? Are you well?”

  “Tell Colonel Nabars to bar the doors to the main house, the stables, and every shed in the compound,” Cornelius ordered. “Then burn them all.”

  “Sir, there are household staff and families in the compound.”

  “I said to burn them all,” Cornelius exploded on the youth. Faced with the ferocious response by the General, the youth galloped away. Alone for a moment, Cornelius proposed. “Maybe that will make their poets cry.”

  ***

  Assuming he had a few miles to go to reach the fighting, War Chief Mandonius jerked on the reins when he came upon the King’s entourage.

  “Have you drawn them into a trap?” Mandonius asked. “What’s the plan?”

  “Scipio is not like his father or his uncle,” Indibilis described. “He has none of their diplomatic skills. Last night, he sent a Senior Tribune forward with two wagons of wine.”

  “A peace offering,” Mandonius suggested. “A way for the boy General to grease us up before we take back our women.”

  “No, brother. A way to get our Captains drunk and slow their response to a predawn attack,” Indibilis stated. “He’s chased us to here and burned every farm and field along the way.”

  “What is he an animal?” Mandonius scoffed, “or a madman?”

  Just as the War Chief of the Ilergetes finished, flames crawled up to the roof of the main house. Other fires inside the compound told the tale of incineration with a purpose.

  Spearmen from the area attempted to rush back to the compound. They were held down by friends as their families burned. Crushed by the slaughter of their loved ones, they dropped to the ground and cried.

  As he witnessed the massacre of innocents and the heartaches of his warriors, a memory of whips of smoke came to Indibilis. He twisted in the saddle to face eastward. Above Lleida, a layer of black smoke hung, as if clouds heavy with rain. But the dark sky didn’t hint at rain from crops and relief from the heat. Rather the smoke told of the destruction of half his capital city.

  “General Scipio is neither an animal nor a madman,” Indibilis informed his brother. “He has the stone heart of an Ilergetes. And the iron will of a War Chief of the people. I believe, it’s time we begged General Scipio to join us in a treaty tent.”

  “I have eight hundred cavalrymen and you command thousands of spearmen,” his brother protested. “And in two days, we’ll have twice as many warriors.”

  Although far off, Legion riders came from the east, and heavy cavalry closed in from the sides. While the mounted forces moved in, lines of Legionaries approached, further defining, and sealing the kill box.

  “In less than a day, we’ll join our ancestors in the ground,” Indibilis countered. “No, brother. We will ask for a treaty.”

  “And then?” Mandonius questioned.

  “Would you break your word to a man committed enough to burning his enemies and scorching the very earth under their feet?”

  “Truthfully, no,” Mandonius admitted. “I would not break my word to a man like that.”

  ***

  Veterans from third maniple formed a passageway. Down the center, a wagon rolled slowly, carrying Budarica and Betina, Indibilis’ daughters, and Ama, Mandonius’ wife. Still surrounded by infantrymen, the wagon stopped behind the treaty tent.

  “I am out of patience,” Cornelius snapped, “and have no more days to waste on the killers of my father.”

  He marched into the tent with Sidia behind his left shoulder. No other bodyguards accompanied the Legion General.

  “You’re very brave to come into the tent unescorted,” Mandonius noted.

  Indibilis and Mandonius were seated at a table. Behind them, six spearmen stood as guardians over their King and War Chief.

  “Sidia. What happens if I fall in this tent?” Cornelius questioned.

  “Your veterans, General, will execute the girls and the woman,” the bodyguard replied. “Then Colonel Kasia will take command.”

  “I believe you know Jace Kasia,” Cornelius offered.

  “We’ve met the archer,” Mandonius grunted.

  “He’s my strategist,” Cornelius informed them. “I don’t listen to all of his advice. It’s often too brutal. For instance, we’re here and not meeting on the ruins of Fort Algerri. Do you understand?”

  “We understand, General Scipio,” Indibilis stated. “What do you require for peace between us and for the return of the hostages.”

  “I want silver. Plus, a thousand spearmen for my Legions,” Cornelius listed. “And your oaths, sworn on the lives of all you hold dear, to never raise a weapon against me.”

  “In that case,” Indibilis agreed, “all that’s left is the counting.”

  “What guarantees do we get?” Mandonius asked.

  “My word that I will not come in the night,” Cornelius promised, “to kill your children, burn your cities, and erase you from history. Is that enough?”

  “It’s enough, General Scipio,” Indibilis agreed.

  They both lifted their eyes to the wagon and the waiting hostages.

  “It’s enough, General Scipio,” Mandonius vowed.

  ***

  To the east of the treaty tent, the Legion cavalry sat on their mounts, maintaining the blockade. And there was the issue. Waiting drained the energy from both man and beast. Jace grew bored and eased his horse away from the Centurions of Cavalry.

  “Let me know if anything develops,” he requested.

  “Where are you going, Colonel?”

  “I want to look over the things we took from the big pavilion.”

  “There are some nice gold and silver items,” a combat officer suggested.

  “Those aren’t the riches I’m seeking.”

  Jace trotted to a column of transports. Filled with treasures from the Ilergetes horse camp, the wagons, although hurriedly loaded, were stacked high. As Jace approached the teamsters, all but one watched him closely and trembled. They had been drafted at the point of a lance to drive the wagons. He couldn’t blame them for being afraid. But an unresponsive driver caught his attention.

  “What’s his problem?” Jace asked.

  He swung out a leg, slid off the horse, and stepped onto the bed of a wagon.

  “He’s a poet, sir,” a teamster answered. “And the thoughtless destruction has overwhelmed him.”

  “Look at me,” Jace ordered.

  The poet slowly raised his face to reveal tear-stained cheeks.

  Raising an arm, Jace waved at an Optio of Cavalry.

  “I need two riders and a third horse,” Jace instructed. “Take the poet to General Scipio. Tell him, this poet wept.”

  After the cavalry escort left, Jace pulled back animal skin covers and sorted through the items from Mandonius’ tent. At first, he couldn’t find it. But then the quiver appeared. And a moment later, he located the bow case holding his hunting bow.

  He started to turn from the pile of goods when a voice from his past came to him.

  “A Cretan Archer always earns a profit,” Zarek Mikolas had recited often.

  Jace went back to the pile of loot and selected a gold cup. He dropped it into a hip bag. Before jumping off the wagon, he announced, “profit earned, Master.”

  ***

  The Legions jogged back to their marching camps, carrying their wounded. Although General Scipio had an agreement, no one trusted the thousands of Ilergetes warriors milling around. Before sundown, guards were posted, and the gates closed and barred shut.

  In the morning, General Scipio would march his victorious Legions out of Ilergetes territory. In a few days, they would reach the Legion fort outside of Tarraco.

  “I need to coordinate with Junius Silanus about our next campaign,” Cornelius told his staff. “I’m out of useful hostages. And with the Carthaginian Generals away from Iberia, I’m not sure of the next tribe we should target for pacification.”

  But due to circumstances beyond his control, Scipio, the Prorogatio of Iberia, would not meet with Silanus, the Magistrate of Iberia. Fate and the Senate of Rome had other plans for Cornelius.

  Act 7

  Chapter 19 – The Judgement Trap

  A mile from the fort and drill fields at Marçà, Cornelius Scipio, Sidia, and ten veteran Legionaries galloped away from the columns. Angling off the trail, they rode cross-country until they reached the base of the hill with the four shrines. At the top, Cornelius turned his horse and gazed down on his Legions.

  Jace Kasia’s mounted detachment of Republic cavalry rode the vanguard. Next in the march came the fifteen hundred Celtiberi cavalrymen. Cornelius felt bad about placing all those horses in front of the infantry of a Republic Legion. He could imagine the cursing by the Legionaries as they stepped in horse manure. But he wanted Colonel Laelius’ Eagles adjacent to the thousand Ilergetes spearmen. And with Colonel Nabars’ Trumpets, an Iberian Legion, positioned behind, the two Legions boxed in the newly recruited Ilergetes.

  “It’s an impressive display of military might, sir,” Sidia offered.

  “Two full Legions, plus auxiliary troops and riders,” Cornelius remarked. “It’s not enough to even threaten Hannibal.”

  “But General, you have five more Legions under your command,” Sidia reminded him.

  “And five more of those,” Cornelius declared. Those referred to the long line of transports with loaded donkeys and spare mounts interspersed between the wagons. While Cornelius could see all his martial forces in one sweeping glance, the file of supply wagons and pack animals stretched back into the hills and out of sight. “This operation was a test of my command abilities. I learned a lot and have identified several problems. Chief among them is my slow and lumbering supply caravan.”

  Cornelius spun his horse from the marching men and faced the four shrines. Running along the crest of the hill, the altars were visible from the surrounding area and the Legion fort on the far side.

  “Will you be praying, sir?” Sidia inquired.

  “In all four shrines,” Cornelius answered. “After this campaign, I believe it’s warranted.”

  As befitting the father of gods, Jupiter’s shrine crowned the hill. Planted at the entrance were duplicates of the Legions’ banners. An Eagle on one side and a Lightning Bolt banner on the other adorned the altar. A little downhill, the shrine of Aeneas, The Terrible, displayed a Steed, and a Trumpet, banner. Next to that, the shrine of Deimos sat solid and not the least bit scary. But anyone going in knew full well, Deimos visited a terrible fear on warriors before a battle. Its banners were a Chariot and a Golden Cat. Last in Cornelius’ compilation, Nortus, the God who blows wind from the north. Fittingly, the banners of Wings and Wind hung at the doorway.

  Cornelius lifted up his left leg, preparing to pull it over the saddle horns and dismount.

  “Sir, I’d wait,” Sidia suggested. “You’ve got company coming.”

  Riding hard from the Legion fort, Lucius Marcius and five bodyguards galloped up the slope. Cornelius allowed his leg to lower. Then he sighed while waiting for the Battle Commander of Bolt Legion to reach him.

  ***

  “General Scipio, I trust that you are well and full of vigor,” Marcius proposed when he reined in.

  “That, Battle Commander, is the opening for a formal letter,” Cornelius noted. “Is there a reason for the ceremonial greeting?”

  “Sir, the news is grim, and I wasn’t sure how to go from a robust welcome back to a gritty, stuff it in your face, delivery.”

  “You succeeded in raising my curiosity and lowering my expectations,” Cornelius assured him. “I’m braced for the bad news.”

  “Last week, a delegation of Senators arrived from Rome,” Marcius told him. “They were heading for New Carthage to arrest Colonel Titus Quaeso based on a letter they received from Senior Tribune Furia.”

  “They what?”

  “Exactly, sir. They arrested Colonel Quaeso and took him and Furia back to Rome,” Marcius explained. “Fearing a break in command, Magistrate Silanus sailed to New Carthage with a detachment.”

  Cornelius sat very still on his mount. For long moments, the only movements were muscle twitches in the shoulders of his horse. Then a muscle flexed in Scipio’s jaw.

  “The last time I checked I was the Prorogatio of Iberia. And that title comes with specific authority over my command,” Cornelius said. “How could they row in, ignore my position, and arrest one of my Colonels without asking my permission?”

  Marcius extended a scroll to Cornelius.

  “You’ve been recalled to Rome and stripped of authority, pending a ruling by the Senate, sir.”

  Cornelius took the missive but didn’t read it.

  “Did the delegation name a charge?”

  “Yes, sir. You are being accused of creating an unlawful kingdom,” Marcius answered. “And of declaring yourself, the King of Iberia.”

  For a heartbeat, Cornelius almost said sarcastically, “If I had set out to rule Iberia. By now, I would march on Rome and spank the old fools.” But he held his tongue and his temper.

  “Tonight, at the officers’ mess, I’ll designate the distribution of the Legions and the auxiliary units. And in the morning, I’ll sail for Rome,” Cornelius announced. Then he hesitated and commented. “Only if my plans, Colonel Marcius, meet with your approval.”

  “No one in Tarraco has seen that scroll or talked with the delegation, General Scipio,” Lucius Marcius vowed. “It’ll be a pleasure attending a feast in your honor, before you start your vacation in Rome.”

  ***

  Two weeks after rowing from the port of Tarraco, Cornelius Scipio and Sidia arrived at the Scipio Villa in Rome. A guard on the gate saluted, a stableman took their horses, and a house servant opened the door.

  “It’s good to have you home, sir. But your arrival has taken us by surprise,” the villa’s manager advised. “The lady of the house is at a ceremony for the Goddess Juno. We don’t expect her until evening. Should I send a messenger for Lady Tertia?”