“I heard from a First Century Legionary,” the NCO said while pressing down, and increasing the weight of the log, “the General hates long and slow lines of supply wagons. And I can appreciate the emotion. You see, I hate it when Legionaries stand around playing staff officers. Now get this log to the stockade wall.”

  While they carried the beam to the assembly team, two grain wagons arrived in the clearing.

  “What are they?” the infantryman asked.

  “Supplies for the supply stockade.”

  “I still don’t understand how this is faster than a wagon caravan.”

  ***

  It took an entire day and the work of four clothmakers, but on the second day after the meeting of the Colonels, eight banners were delivered to the headquarters of the Iberian Legions.

  “They are impressive, sir,” Sidia observed.

  Next to him, Centurion Elche, from Trumpet’s First Century replied, “They’ll make the General a target on the battlefield. I don’t like them. Besides, each Legions banner is carried by a man who has earned the privilege to bear the standard. Who has Kasia drafted for the duty of carrying the copies?”

  “I think tall was his prerequisite,” Sidia answered.

  Elche sniffed as if he smelled something bad.

  Waving in the midmorning breeze, the Eagle, Lightning Bolt, Trumpet, Steed, Golden Cat, War Chariot, Winds, and Wings standards created a magnificent display at the building. Cornelius and Jace walked out and perused the standards.

  “Colonel Kasia, are you sure this will work?” Cornelius asked.

  “We only need a few days,” Jace told him. “Besides General Scipio, you’ll look like a King with that many standards following you.”

  The reference caused Cornelius to flinch.

  “Rather than a ruler,” he complained, “I’ll look more like a self-important kafchisiáris.”

  “No one who knows you, sir, would ever accuse you of being a braggart,” Jace assured him. “But your use of the Greek word was excellent.”

  “It’s part of my studies to relate to different mercenary units,” Cornelius admitted.

  Around the Legion camp, the Legionaries, Velites, cavalrymen, teamsters, livestock handlers, craftsmen, and a handful of Ilergetes spies paused. They gawked at the display of banners. Rarely had any of them seen a collection of the Iberian Legion standards in one place.

  “Bring on the standard bearers and let’s get this over with,” Cornelius instructed.

  “It’s only twenty miles and two supply stockades,” Jace confirmed. “We’ll be back before dark.”

  “And you’re sure the Ilergetes will see us?”

  “Their scouts have been snooping around since the first supply depot went up,” Jace answered. “They have maybe ten thousand spearmen gathered on the border. Between your inspection tour, and the delivery of the fish wagons, the assassin’s knife, and your letter, Mandonius will be forced to double the count.”

  After General Scipio and Optio Sidia mounted, Jace and eight tall riders came with the banners. A moment later, Centurion Elche and thirty veteran Legionaries trotted their horses forward and formed files behind the standard bearers.

  In columns trailing Cornelius, the parade worthy entourage trotted through the gates, turned west, and headed for the first supply depot. The banners flapped majestically overhead as they rode away from the fort at Marçà.

  ***

  On a grass knoll to the south, an Ilergetes scout watched the group exit the fort and vanish between the hills. He didn’t know who was in the cluster, but eight Legion banners identified that someone important was out for a ride. On the backside of the hill, he untied his horse. Then with an urgency driven by what he witnessed, the scout mounted and galloped westward.

  Three miles farther west, another Ilergetes scout spotted the assembly of standards. He remained in his perch long enough to count the number of riders. Then he climbed out of the tree, untied his horse, mounted it, and galloped away.

  Two miles south of the second Legion supply depot, and just out of range of the Legion patrols, a Lieutenant of Ilergetes began his midday meal. He had taken a couple of bites from a sausage when a rider came into camp.

  “No rest,” he complained. After stuffing the spiced meat back in his pack, he walked to the scout. “This better be good.”

  “Riders with eight banners displayed, sir, and what looked like a General leading a Legion patrol,” he reported.

  “How many in the patrol?” the officer inquired.

  “Aw, I didn’t count them, sir,” the scout admitted.

  “Too many to count?” the Lieutenant encouraged.

  “No sir. A small patrol.”

  “Why would a General be leading a small patrol?”

  Flustered, the scout stammered. He was saved by the arrival of the second lookout.

  “Forty-two Legionaries riding under eight banners,” he reported. “And Lieutenant, I think their General Scipio is leading the patrol.”

  “No King goes pleasure riding towards an enemy with only forty-one cavalrymen,” the officer said.

  “Unless, sir, the General wants to check his supply lines before the invasion.”

  Once written, the message about an imminent attack on the Ilergetes Tribe by the Legions went out. Four of the fastest scouts left to carry the important news to the War Chief.

  ***

  Fifty miles later, the couriers reached the forward lines of spearmen. The sun rested low in the sky, announcing the coming of night.

  “We have a message for War Chief Mandonius,” one reported.

  Waved forward, the scouts were allowed to enter the tent of the tribe’s War Chief.

  “Why do you bother my husband at his evening meal?” Ama demanded.

  “Lady Ama, we have reason to believe the Legion is on the march,” a scout replied.

  Another courier handed over the letter. After reading it, Ama took it to her husband.

  “Read this,” she encouraged.

  Mandonius put aside his feast and read the Lieutenant’s message. Then he started a note to his brother.

  “Indibilis won’t like it,” the War Chief commented to his wife. “Because of the constraints from our last treaty with Scipio, the tribe’s treasury is down. Maintaining what we have is costing us. And now, asking for another ten thousand spearmen and cavalry will empty the coffers.”

  “King Indibilis will like it less when General Scipio arrives at his doorstep for breakfast,” Ama suggested.

  “Coming to breakfast is not Scipio’s style. He’s more the annihilation of everything living type of enemy.”

  Mandonius finished the letter that would put the Ilergetes Tribe in debt for the next twenty years. Giving it to four other messengers, he told them to hurry. Darkness fell as they rode from the War Chief’s compound, heading for Lleida.

  ***

  At Marçà, the sun set on thirty-one riders accompanying the eight banners. The patrol rode through the gates and directly to the headquarters building of the Iberian Legion. There, the eight banners were anchored and displayed to let everyone know General Scipio was in residence.

  The handful of Ilergetes spies took note of the standards. Over the next week, they would report that the banners remained in front of the building. Meaning General Scipio was still in the Legion fort and not leading an attack force on the Ilergetes tribe.

  ***

  Five mile south of Marçà, three riders walked their horses onto a beach.

  “General Scipio, we’re ready to row out at daybreak,” a ship’s Centurion greeted the riders.

  “Excellent,” Cornelius replied. He dismounted, walked to a campfire, and inquired. “Did my Battle Commanders get out?”

  “Colonel Kasia and I are the last, sir,” Gaius Laelius told him. “Senior Tribune Silanus and the others left Tarraco during the day in separate warships. No one seemed to notice.”

  “Jace, what do you think?” Cornelius questioned.

  “Sir, I think while the Ilergetes are buying grain to feed their army,” Jace answered, “Hasdrubal Barca and his Carthaginian army are in for a rough patch.”

  Chapter 23 – Tiers of Pain & Sorrow

  At twenty-six, General Scipio marched away from New Carthage with five full Legions and a sixth composed of light infantry and heavy cavalry. Adding to the uncertainty of the unwieldy masses, the General had no experience commanding a force of its size, nor practice in deploying multiple Legions in combat.

  Colonel Laelius rode to Scipio’s command position at the thirty-three-mile marker.

  “Sir, typically we end the day’s march at thirty miles,” he advised. “It allows us to set up marching camps and rest the men.”

  Cornelius lifted his chin, not in a dismissive gesture, but to look at the sky. A moment later, he focused on the Battle Commander.

  “Colonel Laelius, when Hannibal was in Taranto trying to break the Republic’s hold on the citadel, Consuls Appius Claudius and Fulvius Flaccus decided it was the right time to recapture Capua,” Cornelius lectured. “It should have been a successful siege. Except, Hannibal showed up four days later. He’d marched his entire army one hundred and seventy miles in four days. And no one saw him coming.”

  “Sir, I understand,” Laelius remarked. “If Hannibal can do it, so can you.”

  “You don’t understand,” Cornelius corrected. “There are two armies one hundred and seventy miles southwest of Baecula. If they march from Seville, immediately, they’ll catch us in a pincher movement. I plan on destroying Hasdrubal Barca and his army, and being away, before his brother can come to his rescue.”

  “Now I understand, General Scipio,” the Battle Commander confirmed. “We’ll push on until you call for a rest period.”

  Laelius saluted, turned his horse, and rode back to Eagle Legion. He carried with him a new appreciation for Cornelius Scipio.

  ***

  Including teamsters, animal handlers, servants, and craftsmen, Cornelius Scipio forced marched forty thousand men, one hundred and sixty miles, to the Cazorla River. When scouts alerted him that the enemy was camped seven miles upstream, where the Cazorla met the wide Guadalquivir River, he called a halt.

  Maps were drawn and given to the General. After studying the land and the enemy’s location on high ground accessible only by climbing levels, Cornelius sat alone on a rock, looked at the sky, and thought. Finally, he stood and called for Colonel Kasia.

  ***

  “I want the entrances to the area sealed,” he directed as soon as Jace dismounted. “Use the heavy cavalry. From here, no one gets in or out. Over where the Guadalquivir flows out of the hills, I want the same barrier.”

  “We can do that,” Jace told him. “But, General, that’s not going to win the battle.”

  “Do you remember Lake Trasimene?” Cornelius asked.

  “Yes, sir. Hannibal set up a false camp, then sent his warriors through the hills at night to come in behind the Legions. And General Gaius Flaminius marched us right into the ambush. What has that got to do with Baecula, sir?”

  “Gaius marched us into the trap because Hannibal dangled an undefended campsite in front of him.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jace agreed. “But Hasdrubal is in a fixed and easily defended location. He won’t be tempted to come down and walk into a trap.”

  “I can filter my Legionaries through the forest overnight and get them close to the flanks of the plateau. Once in position, it’s a quick climb up the slopes. However, it’ll only work if we can get close before he notices our infantry,” Cornelius explained. “I need Hasdrubal Barca to focus on something. Something he doesn’t fear.”

  Jace took a deep breath and blinked his eyes as if trying to clear his vision. Finally, he offered, “Maybe if he faced a head on attack by a couple thousand light infantrymen.”

  “And excellent idea,” Cornelius allowed. “But we want him comfortable and almost entertained. Make it twelve Centuries. And take your standard bearer with you. It’ll help with the show.”

  “We’ll have to do more than stand around looking pretty,” Jace informed him. “And although I haven’t checked, I don’t think I have any jugglers in Wings for entertainment.”

  “I’ll flag you through the trees,” Cornelius described. “When you get the signal, attack up the slope. Then, Colonel Laelius and I will close in from the sides.”

  Jace began to ask what the fee was for suicide. But decided against it. Rather he asked, “When do we start, sir?”

  “You’ll move into position in the morning,” Cornelius replied. “May your God of War, Ares, guide and protect you through the fight.”

  Jace started to inform Cornelius that in Sparta they had the statue of Ares bound in chains. It signified the horrors unleashed and the unpredictability on the world when the God of War was set free. Instead, he saluted and rode off to send out the blocking forces.

  ***

  Shields lining the third tier created a barrier at the very top. Jace Kasia knew what waited behind the shields of the Carthaginian heavy infantrymen. On the bottom tier, tribal skirmishers waited. When his light infantry started to climb out of the valley, the spears of the skirmishers would disrupt his forward progress. But once breached, the first tier offered no real challenge to his Velites. It was the second tier where the concerns started.

  “There’s a comfort in that,” First Centurion Turibas commented.

  “A comfort would be if General Scipio let us set up ten onagers and gave us two days to drop a granite quarry on their heads,” Jace protested. “But allow me, First Centurion, to think like our Prorogatio of Iberia for a moment. And I ask this diplomatically. Where in Hades is there any comfort in this mess?”

  “Well sir, the slope from the second tier to the top is too steep for heavy infantry,” Turibas proposed. “They may throw things at us, spit, scream profanities, call down curses from the Gods, but Colonel Kasia, they can’t climb down and join the party.”

  “And why would they?” Jace pointed out. “Hasdrubal Barca has packed the second tier with all his light infantrymen while General Scipio limits our Velites to twelve Centuries.”

  “Nine hundred and sixty light infantrymen aren’t very many,” Turibas agreed.

  ***

  The standard bearer, as he had done since they formed, strutted back and forth in front of the ranks. He provided a focus for the Legion light infantryman while they waited. And they had been waiting since early morning. And all the while, he had been silent, but in constant motion.

  Then, accompanied by exaggerated gestures, the standard bearer shouted, “Wings Legion.”

  From the ranks of the bored and distracted Velites, came a weak response, “Wings Legion.”

  “I said Wings Legion,” he repeated.

  Waving the pole with the rolled-up standard in one hand, and pumping the other arm in the air, he kicked imaginary enemies with his legs while hopping from one foot to the other.

  “Wings Legion!”

  This time, “Wings Legion,” exploded from the ranks.

  The response carried across the valley floor, and up the slopes. It hit the Carthaginian skirmishers on the first tier, before reaching the forward ranks of their light infantrymen on the second level.

  Warriors on both sides shouted insults, although the distance was too great for the words to have any impact. During the useless demonstration, the Senior Centurion of Wings Legion rode to Jace and dismounted.

  Ceradin saluted and pointed at their Centuries light infantrymen, their officers, and NCOs.

  “The natives are getting restless,” he cautioned. “We can’t hold them back much longer before they start fighting in the ranks. And if tribes that are hostile to each other draw blades, the Carthaginians can relax, we’ll defeat ourselves.”

  “It’s not just ours,” Jace pointed out. “The Carthaginian infantrymen are just as bored as our Velites.”

  “Colonel, we need to begin this fight,” Ceradin suggested, “or stand them down.”

  The bitterness Jace expressed in conversation with Turibas earlier vanished.

  “We have orders, and we will follow them,” Jace snapped. “If we standdown, it’ll look like we’re waiting for instructions.”

  “Sir, that is what we’re doing,” the Legion’s senior combat officer reminded Jace.

  Ceradin dropped to his knees, reached over, and pointed at a map spread on the ground. After waving a hand over the parchment, the Senior Centurion indicated Messina on the map of Sicilia.

  “Have you ever been there?” Turibas asked. “I hear the fish stew is delicious.”

  “Before Iberia, I’ve never been farther south than Naples,” the Senior Centurion admitted. “How long are we going to act like we’re reading a map of the Baecula Valley?”

  “Senior Centurion, I know standing around with the men in ranks makes us look like I am undecided. And that’s the point. If we break out the pots and light cookfires, the Carthaginians will know we’re waiting for something else to develop.”

  ***

  The sun hung in a portion of the sky between the horizon and the pinnacle of its morning journey. Across the ranks, Velites complained and fidgeted as they became more agitated. In keeping with the subterfuge, none of the senior officers approached the formation. To give a rousing speech when they wanted to appear ready, but hesitant, prevented Jace or the Senior Centurion from interacting with their infantrymen. And that caused more dissatisfaction.

  “Standard bearer,” Jace called out in a voice that made every head turn in his direction. “If you have a moment.”

  Centurion Usico jogged to the group of officers.

  “Are we stepping off, Colonel, or standing down?” the standard bearer inquired.

  “You’ve done a good job of maintaining order,” Jace complimented him. “I expect you’ll need to do it a little longer.”

  “Yes, sir,” Usico stated.

  He about-faced. But, as Usico walked towards the head of the ranks, Jace looked at the forest, nodded at what he saw, and called to the standard bearer.

  “Centurion Usico, hold up. I’m coming with you.”