North of the empty ground, the second Carthaginian General managed to collect a fighting force. In one melee after another, he fought his infantry around his half of the battlefield and claimed dominance over one section after another. Although he brought together soldiers and spearmen, he didn’t move to help the Carthaginian General to his south. Mostly because the walls of Carmona were adjacent to the northern field of battle. And to aid the other Carthaginian, required him to abandon the security of the walled sanctuary. Not to mention crossing the strip of death that separated the two conflicts.

  Mercenaries attempted to flee the southern zone and reach Carmona through the northern fighting. But each died on lances or under the hooves of charging horses. In a rotating loop of murder, Captain Bekeres moved his heavy cavalrymen in one direction while Captain Darsosin charged in the other. And as surely as a wide, deep river would, Princes Allucius’ gift to Cornelius Scipio divided the battlefield.

  ***

  On the walls of Carmona, spearmen shouted suggestions at the Carthaginian armies and their Generals. Unheard by the combatants due to the distance, the ruckus came down muddled to the gate guards. For Jace Kasia, the noise presented an opportunity.

  A lesson from archer training came to Jace, “A man with a plan and a vision could do many things in the midst of chaos: escape, attack, hide, or turn the tide of a battle.”

  “Many things,” Jace pondered. “But what, Master Mikolas?”

  While Jace considered his choices, one of the Celtiberi cavalry officers turned his mount to the north. He reined in and signaled for a wedge. A moment later, five hundred heavy cavalrymen lowered their lances and charged the Carthaginian General’s position.

  And Jace realized, his original plan to hold the gate open was the reverse of what was needed. After climbing down the ladder to the courtyard, he ran to the center of the gateway.

  “Lochías. Pull in your file, the Latians are charging,” Jace shouted to the gate Sergeant. From the walls, the clammer gave the NCO no way to confirm the information. He called for his guards to move back. Meanwhile, Jace rushed to his five Legion cavalrymen. “After the Carthaginian General comes through, start closing the gate. Before it shuts, slip out and run. But stay close to the walls.”

  “I thought we were going to hold the gate open,” one mentioned.

  “The other Carthaginian General is far outside of the city. I don’t want him to get in.”

  “When out is in, right, sir?” the cavalryman who liked creating phrases offered.

  “Don’t get caught inside.”

  Then, to Jace’s delight, the tribesmen on the walls began throwing spears. At what he wasn’t sure. There were no Legion units close enough to hit. But the action served to confirm that the Legion was attacking the gate.

  Moments later, the Carthaginian General and his staff raced through the portal. Lagging far behind the riders, his infantrymen tried to keep up.

  “Close the gate,” Jace bellowed. “Close the gate.”

  The five Legion cavalrymen pushed the giant oak and iron door. As it swung, first one ducked out of the opening. Then another, and finally, the last three hopped through as the edge of the gate and the frame touched.

  “You ungrateful rats,” Jace shouted at the closed gateway. “I fed you, clothed you, and taught you a trade. And when I need you, you desert me.”

  “Step aside, Greek,” the Sergeant instructed. “We’ll set the bar.”

  Jace backed away and watched four of the gate guards lift a log and drop it into brackets. With the gateway sealed, he drifted across the courtyard and vanished into a back street of Carmona.

  Chapter 29 – You’re Out of Uniform

  One Carthaginian General made it into Carmona. Then, miraculously, the gate closed, trapping the second General in the southern battle area.

  Junius Silanus grabbed a mounted signalman by the arm, almost pulling the young man off his horse.

  “Send every free squadron after the Carthaginian,” he shouted. “Send them now. Now.”

  A series of flags issued instructions, while junior tribunes with messages rode to Centurions. Long after they began, according to Silanus’ accounting, Captain Bekeres drew his heavy cavalry out of the no man’s land. From the back-and-forth track, the Celtiberi officer drove his mount towards the fighting around the Carthaginian General.

  A deficiency of a light attack force, Legion Velites got hung up on the shields of heavy infantrymen. Spears and shields, blood and courage, wounds and death passed back and forth between the shield walls. Despite a valiant try, the Legion light infantrymen couldn’t break the protective wall around the General. Then Captain Bekeres and the leading riders of his heavy cavalry peeled off the outer layer of Carthaginian heavy infantry. Behind the first squadron, a second set of ten lances sluffed off another layer of soldiers.

  In a massive push, the Velites plowed into the formation. Four of them pulled the General off his mount.

  “Your name, sir,” a Centurion inquired.

  “General Hanno of Carthage,” the man replied. “I wish to speak with your General.”

  “And I believe, sir, he wants to talk with you.”

  With the fall of the last senior commander, the remaining soldiers and light infantry from Mago and Hanno’s armies scattered. Scouts reported most headed home. They’d had enough of the campaign season.

  ***

  Junius Silanus beamed all the way back. When he walked his victorious light infantrymen and cavalrymen to the marching camps, he was surprised to see the rows and rows of damp and sodden Legionaries in the distance. After signaling the Centurions to head for the stockades, he rode to General Scipio.

  “Senior Tribune, tell me this was worth it,” Cornelius said in greeting.

  “We broke both armies, and captured their General Hanno,” Silanus reported. “What’s left is right in front of you, sir.”

  Cornelius glanced at the sun, then to his left and right.

  “Let’s see what Gisco is made of,” he stated. “Senior Centurion forward the Legions.”

  Trumpets blared, and a roar came from the ranks. Angry about standing in the rain since before sunup, the Legionaries were spoiling for a fight.

  “Legions, forward,” came the order from the four Battle Commanders.

  Eleven thousand heavy infantrymen stepped off to the cadence of left-stomp-left-stomp-left-stomp. And General Scipio nudged his horse.

  It was a little less than half a mile between combatants when the Carthaginians moved. But rather than attack the Legions, they broke left and right. Not long afterwards, Gisco’s army fled from the field of battle.

  Some vanished behind the walls of Fuentes de Andalucía and others entered the defensive walls of Écija.

  “I believe he doesn’t want a fight, sir,” Sidia proposed.

  “And I don’t want to spend the winter besieging a series of fortified towns,” Cornelius proclaimed. “Senior Centurion. Turn the Legions around and march them home.”

  ***

  Getting out of Carmona proved easy. Once the Legions marched away, stretcher bearers, grave details, and NCOs rushed out to take stock of their losses. In the mass of spearmen, Jace Kasia, in a stolen cloak, left the city. He headed south, soon settling into a comfortable jog.

  ***

  The officers’ mess was a glorious affair. For the cavalry officers and the officers of the Velites, it was a chance to regale heavy infantry officers with their exploits. Cornelius listened with pleasure at the retelling of the battle of Carmona. But when he stood, the pavilion fell silent.

  “You all did your part today. And I am proud of every Century and squadron. But I have to ask, has anyone seen Colonel Kasia?”

  “Sir, we located his five raiders. Although, for some strange reason, they prefer to be called Tritons,” Silanus explained. “The last time they saw Jace, he ordered them to flee through the closing gate of Carmona.”

  “I want to speak with them in the morning,” Cornelius announced. “I’ve known Colonel Kasia for over a decade. I am confident that he will show up.”

  A noise at the entrance drew everyone’s attention. A moment later, Jace strolled into the tent dressed in what could only be described as a light toga.

  “Colonel Kasia, you’re out of uniform,” Cornelius scolded.

  Jace held up both arms and brushed the fabric of the himation with his hands.

  “No, General Scipio, I am not out of uniform,” Jace informed Cornelius. “Because sir, I resign my position in the Legions of the Republic and the Iberian Legions specifically.”

  “Well, well, well. Kasia, this is a military banquet,” Cornelius stated. “And the only way for you to stay is to be my guest of honor. Do you accept?”

  “General Scipio, indeed, I do.”

  Chapter 30 – Welcome Home

  Jace Kasia braced as the merchant ship approached the dock. Workers caught and pulled lines, drawing the vessel against the pier. In the hustle of securing the trader, Jace breathed softly, absorbing the familiar atmosphere of Crete.

  “First time visiting Phalasarna?” a man called to Jace from the dock. “My cousin is an excellent guide.”

  From the scruffy dress and smashed nose, Jace judged the only thing excellent about the man would be his unreliability.

  “Not my first time,” Jace assured him.

  Bending, Jace slipped a strap over his shoulder. Standing upright, he lifted a heavy wooden box from the deck. All the earnings from his years with the Legion filled the container.

  “Phalasarna is not a safe city for visitors. There are pickpockets and rogues on every corner,” the disheveled man warned. Although he stayed on the dock, the man shuffled closer to the rails of the ship as if to intimidate Jace. “You had best take advantage of my generous nature. For your own good.”

  Ignoring him, Jace scooped a pack from the deck. At the sight of two bow cases and two quivers strapped to a long pack, the ruffian stepped away from the gunwale. He wasn’t sure if a Latian could become a Cretan Archer, but he wasn’t going to chance it. Backing away, the man apologized, “Sorry to have bothered you, Archer.”

  Not long after leaving the boat, Jace took the path upward from the harbor and entered the city.

  ***

  The tree lined street hadn’t changed nor had the long brick wall of the archer school. An older student from a Troop stood sentry at the gateway. As Jace approached, the teen shifted and blocked the entrance.

  “The Agoge is not open to the public,” he sneered.

  “Are you capable in a fighting circle?” Jace inquired. Taken aback by the question, the teen hesitated while Jace advised. “Because, Troop, challenging a File Leader will land you in a hand-to-hand combat class you aren’t ready for.”

  “Your name, Archer?”

  “Jace Kasia, File Leader for Lieutenant Gergely’s company. Where is the Herd today?”

  The youth blinked as if confused by the description. Finally, he swallowed, stepped aside, and pointed towards the armory.

  “Thank you,” Jace said.

  Without fond memories, he crossed the parade ground. His stay at the Agoge hadn’t been as a student, but as a bower. And a not too popular one at that. After weaving between a few buildings, Jace saw the archery range and a bitter memory washed over him. Then he noticed a bunch of little boys in front of the armory and a pleasant thought replaced the ill. He’d enjoyed teaching the rudiments of bow-and-arrow making to the youngest students in the agoge.

  ***

  The Herd were sitting in a semicircle listening to a lecture by an instructor. As the Master Archer spoke, he lifted his arms in the air. Jace stopped. Rather than a hand on his right arm, the man displayed a scarred stump.

  “I need someone to watch my long pack,” Jace announced after a moment of gawking.

  Slowly, Acis Gergely lowered his arms and turned to face a ghost from his past.

  “File Leader Kasia, you are about eleven years late reporting in,” the former Lieutenant of Archers scolded Jace.

  “Sir, it’s been a profitable contract,” Jace assured him. He jostled the box and coins rattled against the wooden sides. “Are these bowmen able to guard my pack? Do they know their dances?”

  “File Leader Kasia, the Cretan Agoge welcomes you back,” Gergely exclaimed. “This Herd is learning. But they have a long way to go before earning the title and taking their place in a File with Cretan Archers.”

  “I’d like to see a war-dance,” Jace remarked.

  Without pausing, Gergely barked, “Cretan counter-march firing. Set the beat.”

  The boys, a mixture of ages eight and nine, jumped to their feet. Several started a chant, “Mártios, mártios, step left, step right, mártios.”

  The call of march-step was soon repeated as the fourteen formed two single files. Then the first two in each column positioned their arms as if holding bows. And while they were still, the chanting and marching in place continued behind them.

  “Your target is a hundred feet away. Release five and rotate,” Gergely instructed. While the boys ran the drill, the Lieutenant marched to Jace and hugged him. “There’s been no reports of an active Cretan Archer in the Republic. We figured you were dead.”

  “Close, a couple of times,” Jace admitted. “But Zarek Mikolas taught me survival skills that carried me through tough times. I need to see the Archon and pay him a share of the mercenary contract. It should be enough to clear Mikolas’ name of any disgrace and to give you credit for the completion of the contract.”

  Gergely grabbed the strap and tested the weight of the box.

  “I’m going with you,” he insisted. “As you pointed out, it was my contract that took you to the Romans. Plus, you’ll need me to vouch for your credentials as a Master Cretan Archer from the respected Agoge of Zarek Mikolas.”

  ***

  Morning fog hung over the hills behind the farmhouse. In the garden, as she did every day during harvest season, the woman stooped and plucked vegetables from neatly arranged rows.

  “If you taste a carrot once in a while,” Jace said from the side of the garden plot, “it’ll help you appreciate the hard work that went into growing the crop.”

  Neysa Kasia straightened her back, brushed loose strands of gray hair off her face, and glared at the tall, broad-shouldered man.

  “Is it beneath the dignity of an archer to help with the harvest?” she asked. “There’s an extra basket near the shed.”

  Jace hiked to the porch of the farmhouse and rested his long pack next to the door. Then he went towards the shed. As he approached it, memories of learning to construct hunting and war bows flashed before his eyes. Next, he remembered smelting iron for arrowheads, shaving arrow shafts, and splitting feathers for fletching. And, he recalled the hundreds of lessons taught by Zarek Mikolas as they worked in the shed. Lessons that had kept him alive during war for over a decade.

  After several moments of reflection, he snatched a basket from a stack of containers. But as he began to turn, a pair of strong arms encircled his waist.

  “Are you hurt, hunted, or just exhausted?” Neysa inquired. “Don’t answer. Cretan Archers are always one or the other. It doesn’t matter, as long as you’re here.”

  “I’ve seen Sicily, Rome, their Republic, the coast of Africa, and too much of Iberia,” Jace informed her. “But no matter where I’ve gone, nothing felt as comfortable as this farm. Or filled my heart as much as seeing you.”

  “Then I’ve done my job as your stepmother,” Neysa whispered. “Are you hungry? Cretan archers usually are.”

  “I can eat,” Jace told her.

  “Then come inside and I’ll fix you something to eat,” Neysa Kasia proposed. Then she released his waist, grabbed one of his hands in hers, and offered. “Welcome home, Jace Kasia.”

  The End

  From Dawn to Death

  A sample of book seven in A Legion Archer series

  Chapter 00 – Payment in Promises

  King Syphax’s compound consisted of several buildings built around a central park. His personal residence, with a balcony overlooking the garden, took up one side of the green space. A building with offices for magistrates and the barracks for his personal guards occupied the opposite side. On one end of the park, a cluster of isolated cottages for visiting dignitaries filled a half-acre of ground.

  The location of the cottages forced dignitaries to stroll through the park to reach the other end. They always arrived refreshed from a walk through the trees and flowers. At the other end, they entered the King’s reception hall and banquet room.

  At the seven entrances to the King’s park, Numidian infantrymen stood sentry. Trained by Legion officers and NCOs, the guards were as deadly as any foot soldiers in the region. The one drawback to their effectiveness came from their placement. Because the King mandated privacy for himself and his guests, the sentry posts were designed to keep undesirables out and not to maintain vigil on the interior of the park.

  On the night of the feast, a million stars dotted the sky. Their combined light created pale shadows in the park. Along the walkways, between the trees, trellises, grape arbors, and flower beds shapes were simply lighter versions of the same background. For predators and eyes trained to identify movement, the phase of the night held few secrets. Yet at moonrise, the brighter illumination would generate contrast. Dark recesses standing apart from solid objects produced deep shadows appropriate for hiding assassins.

  ***

  Inside the banquet hall, a servant filled a glass. He crossed in front of adjacent couches to the next table. While the servant filled a glass there, Hasdrubal Gisco lifted his. He took a sip, beamed a smile in the direction of the King, and saluted him. By deliberately excluding the occupant on the neighboring couch, he demonstrated his dislike for Cornelius.