The officer and the ones who bet against Jace quickly filed through the gates. After taking their winnings, the others marched away.

  “Do you always bet with dangerous men?” Belos inquired.

  “If I want to make a profit,” Jace submitted. He scooped up the remaining coins. “I do have a question.”

  “After witnessing that thing with the arrow, I refuse to bet against you.”

  “I don’t want to bet,” Jace said while counting out a few coins. “I was going to ask what the taxes are in Ilergetes territory.”

  “Lord Indíbil will like that,” Belos stated. “Bring your wagon into the courtyard. Then follow me.”

  ***

  Lord Indíbil carried the muscles of a younger man and the scars of an old bull. His appearance left little doubt that he earned his position in the tribe and the title of Lord in battle.

  “For you, sir,” Jace said while dropping a handful of coins into the rough palm of the Lord.

  “Usually, when a man fights for me, it’s my coins that are handed over,” Indíbil noted.

  “Paying taxes, sir, makes me an honest craftsman,” Jace responded. “But I do have a request. If I’m allowed?”

  Noticing the smell of soap coming off Jace, rather than sweat, Indíbil sniffed and smiled at the cleanliness. Jace caught the approval and silently thanked the ferrymen for the advice.

  While jingling the coins in his hand, Indíbil asked, “What can I do for the man who saved my life?”

  “I’m a bow maker and I’d like to meet King Indibilis,” Jace explained. “If I can convince him to form a company of archers, I could be their Captain. And earn an officer’s wealth.”

  Indíbil walked to a table and deposited the coins in a box. Then he faced Jace.

  “My cousin is a fair ruler and a warrior of fame,” Indíbil described. “But he is a poor politician. He’s too busy to expand his army. Currently, he’s trying to hold his coalition together and remain King of the Ilergetes.”

  “But he beat two Roman armies. Or is that a myth?” Jace questioned.

  “We defeated them but then our Carthaginian Generals ran from a patched together Roman army,” Indíbil complained. “Since then, a couple of young war chiefs have been challenging Indibilis.”

  “If he had archers on his side, he could easily defeat any challenger,” Jace proposed.

  “If he had his daughters back from New Carthage, he could marry them to the upstarts and end the challenges.”

  The answer to one of his questions came so quickly, Jace missed it.

  “But the archers could, ah. Excuse me, Lord Indíbil?”

  “I was young once and I understand an ambitious young man,” Indíbil granted. “But you aren’t Ilergetes, and the Kings’ daughters are in New Carthage. So, get that idea out of your head.”

  Jace had no designs on the daughters of Indibilis or the throne. But now, he understood that Cornelius Scipio held captive two girls who were worth a kingdom. With half his mission completed, Jace had to think of a tactic to get near Mandonius, the King’s brother.

  “If King Indibilis is indisposed, perhaps his second in command could use my services,” Jace proposed.

  Indíbil’s face darkened and his eyes flashed. A little of the old warrior flexed beneath the surface of the old man.

  “You seem to know a lot about my Tribe’s business,” the Lord remarked. “Maybe too much.”

  “Please sir, I can explain,” Jace begged. “Last night, I spent the evening with the ferrymen. They like to talk and I’m a good listener.”

  “The ferrymen? Gods, they are like village wives discussing the appearance of a two headed cow,” Indíbil laughed. “They’ve never seen one. But, like the ferryman on the subject of what happens in a Lord’s compound, they can talk about it from dawn to dusk.”

  Jace remained silent. He’d pushed as far as he could without getting accused of being a spy.

  “Belos, get him fed and find him a safe place to sleep tonight,” Indíbil instructed his bodyguard. “He needs to be up early.”

  “Early, sir?” Belos inquired.

  “Yes. Before daybreak,” Indíbil replied, “if he wants to join the caravan to Algerri.”

  “Sir, what’s in Algerri?” Jace asked.

  “My cousin, Mandonius, War Chief of the Ilergetes People.”

  ***

  In the light of a setting moon, Jace eased the mule and wagon into a space between shadowy wagons in a supply caravan formation.

  “As much as I appreciate the safety,” a tradesman complained, “I could make a lot more if I had the freedom to set my own route.”

  “No one is making you stay,” another told him. “You can leave the caravan, anytime.”

  “Sure, I can. And, lose my purse, my horse, my merchandise, and my cart to highwaymen. No thanks.”

  Between the poverty of the tribe, the abundance of unemployed soldiers turning to robbery, the wealth of the Lords, and the power of the War Chiefs, Jace realized that a treaty with the Ilergetes wouldn’t hold. He’d need to warn Cornelius about the unbalanced society and the danger of trusting King Indibilis.

  A rider trotted alongside the wagons and carts and alerted the merchants.

  “Get ready to move,” he called out to the dark shapes. “Check your wheels, and the hooves of your animals. We don’t stop for repairs or for treatment of the lame.”

  “We don’t stop,” the complainer grumbled. “If anything is lame, it’s having to do business this way.”

  “What we need is a good war to thin out the rowdy ones,” the other tradesman offered. “And a war would bring a lot of trade to the territory.”

  Jace remained quiet as he pondered the ramifications of the statements. Not only was the population suffering from the activities of unguided youths, but the working class had given up on controlling them. More fodder for his argument not to trust a treaty with the Ilergetes.

  Act 3

  Chapter 7 – What Are You Today

  After traveling four days on a trip that Jace could have run in a day and a half, the muted mountains in the distance became a collection of ever-growing peaks on top of recognizable slopes. Closer in, the caravan traveled through foothills with herds of sheep grazing on the slopes.

  “Good land for sheep,” Jace remarked.

  The younger brother of the trader with the wagon ahead of Jace pointed to the shepherds.

  “In the places where we trade, you’d see, at most, a tender and a dog in a day. But here, the shepherds stay within sight of each other.”

  “Bandits,” Jace guessed.

  They strolled along with Jace’s mule between them. Underfoot the soil had been pounded into powder by passing hooves and wagon wheels. To accommodate the soft layer, all the traders wore smooth soled sandals with enclosed sides. The shape was comfortable. And, as anyone who ever walked behind a herd of animals understood, the enclosed sandals kept merda out from between toes. Plus, they were easier to clean than thick soled footwear.

  “I like your mule,” the boy remarked. “It’s gentle. Someday I hope to buy my own trading rig.”

  “My teacher always said, if you earn a profit on little deals,” Jace offered, “soon you’ll have the coins to take advantage of big endeavors.”

  “Big endeavors,” the boy stated. “I like the sound of that.”

  ***

  Later that day, the caravan topped a hill, and they caught a view of a broad valley. Fields of grain bordered wagon trails, olive groves sprouted from flattened mounds, and close to streams, rows of almond trees fought with oaks and maples for the water. On the far side of the valley, hard packed streets and brick buildings covered the lower slopes. Behind the buildings and high above the valley, stone walls announced the presence of a fortified installation.

  “The Fortress of Algerri,” the youth informed Jace.

  Remembering what the ferryman said, Jace whispered, “King Indibilis’ source of power.”

  “What’s that?” the boy inquired.

  “I was just wondering how the village managed to protect the fields and groves,” Jace lied. “I guess patrols from that fort would do it.”

  As if summoned by the remark, six riders cantered over a rise from the side of the trade convoy.

  “Where’s the bow maker?” one demanded.

  “Here,” Jace announced. “Is there a problem?”

  “Get out of line and follow us,” the cavalryman ordered.

  In what could only be an insult, the riders cantered towards the head of the caravan, leaving Jace behind. The move might have been to show superiority over a tradesman, or maybe a joke aimed at a man walking beside a mule. But the mule was long legged, the craftsman’s wagon lightly loaded, the axles well-greased, and the tradesman a Cretan Archer.

  When the cavalrymen reached the caravan guards at the front, they reined in. All five bent a leg and casually slung it over the saddle. The caravan guards rode out of line and assumed the same posture. They would have a while to talk before the tradesman arrived.

  “I’m here,” Jace announced from behind the riders. He scanned the relaxed cavalrymen. “I’ve had days to get to know the guards. But if you want to catch up with them, I’ll meet you at the fort.”

  After a gentle tug on a long line, Jace, the mule, and the wagon raced by the riders. Aggravated by the counter to their jest, and the challenge to their superiority, the mounted men snapped their reins, and kicked their horses into motion. But two urged their mounts forward before lowering the bent leg. They toppled backwards off their horses. The four still mounted glanced back in response to the shouts of their companions.

  “Do we go back?” one asked.

  “No. That tradesman has lynx in his blood,” the leaders stated. “It’ll look bad if he beats us to the fort.”

  “Even if we arrive short two of our patrol?”

  During the conversation, the cavalrymen stopped the frantic motions needed to keep the horses galloping. The mounts slowed to a comfortable trot. But the distance from where the caravan emerged from the hills, through the town, and up to Fort Algerri was less than three and a half miles. And while the mounted escorts faltered on the trail, the longed legged mule and the Cretan Archer never wavered.

  ***

  The winding path carried Jace and the mule through the town and up to an open gateway. Slowing, they entered the fort. A spearman met them in the courtyard.

  “Who are you?” the sentry demanded.

  “Jace Kasia. I believe I’m expected.”

  “Don’t know anything about that,” the sentry admitted. “Wait here.”

  Jace patted the mule’s neck. Then a voice rang out from an elevated balcony.

  “That’s him. That’s Tribune Kasia.”

  Looking to escape, Jace faced the gateway. But four cavalry mounts filled the portal, blocking the route. Next a file of spearmen came from a doorway and surrounded Jace.

  “Are you sure?” another man on the second-floor patio asked in a bored voice. “He doesn’t look very intimidating.”

  “War Chief Mandonius, at the fall of New Carthage, I watched him converse with General Scipio. The General and his Colonels all listened to him.”

  Mandonius handed a pouch of coins to the man who identified Jace.

  “Tell my cousin that I appreciate the warning,” Mandonius said. “Guards, bring the tradesman to my audience chamber.”

  At spear point, Jace was herded through a door, up a flight of steps, and into a large room.

  ***

  While a physically imposing man, befitting a War Chief of the Ilergetes people, Mandonius appeared to be half asleep. It went beyond the bags under his eyes and the red where the whites of his eyes should be, the man slumped as if exhausted.

  Jace strutted to the center of the chamber, braced, then nodded as if agreeing with something, before saying, “I see.”

  “See what?” Mandonius questioned.

  “In training, I often felt sorry for myself because I’m an orphan,” Jace answered. “At those times, my teacher took me on a hunt.”

  “You don’t know what I have on my mind,” Mandonius thundered.

  “Overwhelmed is overwhelmed,” Jace suggested. “Be they worries about your brother’s hold on power. Attacks on your border, bandits threatening chaos, or worry about a far-off loved one. It’s all the same to your heart. It hurts and you can’t sleep.”

  “What are you getting at?” Mandonius asked.

  “When a man draws a hunting bow and aims an arrow at the heart of a deer, his mind can’t hold onto negative thoughts,” Jace informed him. “Do this. Lock me up and hold me for ransom. But understand, I’m not worth more than a couple of donkeys. Or, put me in a fighting pit and watch your men die on my blade. Or, cut my neck and watch me bleed.”

  “Are you that ready to die?”

  “No, War Chief, I don’t want to die,” Jace confessed. “What I want is to talk to the best version of you. Not a sleep deprived husk of a man.”

  At the insult to their War Chief, spearmen stepped away from the walls and leveled their shafts.

  “Stay where you are,” Mandonius ordered. “How do you know I’m sleep deprived?”

  “Because I was once a stick,” Jace explained. “Dull, misshapen, and pointless. And for nights on end, I stood awake with only owls for company.”

  “Why do I care about a stick?” Mandonius inquired.

  “A stick if treated right becomes an arrow that flies true. When you hunt, you can only care about the hike, the stalk, and the arrow’s flight,” Jace told him. “And afterwards, you’ll eat a belly full of fresh meat. Then, truly exhausted, you’ll sleep for a day.”

  “You make hunting sound like a medicinal treatment or perhaps a religious ceremony.”

  “It’s both a treatment and a ritual, War Chief,” Jace told him. “Lock me in a storage room and send for me when you’re feeling clear headed and rested.”

  Jace about faced and began to walk from the chamber. Caught off guard by his self-assurance, the spearmen remained against the walls of the room. He almost reached the doorway.

  “I thought you were a Roman Tribune,” Mandonius mentioned. “You don’t sound like a military man.”

  “What is a man on any given day?” Jace proposed as he turned away from the doorway and his escape. “One day, he’s a married man with a loving wife who is a worthy companion. The next he is called on to wage war. And the next to adjudicate between offended parties. And, on another, he’s called on to soothe the feelings of a close relative. You say I don’t sound like a Roman staff officer. Perhaps, War Chief, today I am not.”

  “We can lock him in a supply room until you decide his fate,” a Captain offered.

  A breeze blew up from the valley. On the current, the aroma of green leaves and freshly turned earth mixed with grain pollen. It blew over the town, and after climbing the slope, the gust reached the fort. Coming through a window, the wind blew the War Chief’s robe, and the scents tickled his nose. After a giant gulp of air, Mandonius issued forth an enormous sneeze.

  So powerful was the explosion of air from his lungs that it bent him over. He wobbled for a heartbeat, before standing erect. Tears rolled down his cheeks requiring him to blink away the moisture. And, as it turned out, the tears also washed the sleep from his eyes.

  “Sir?” the Captain requested. “The prisoner?”

  “You should. No wait. Maybe,” Mandonius started and stopped as he realized his mind was as clear as if he’d spent a carefree day in the hills on a hunt. “Kasia is not a Roman name.”

  “It is not, sir,” Jace said. “I’m a Greek from the Island of Crete.”

  “You talked of arrows,” Mandonius remarked. “Crete is known for their archers.”

  “Earlier you asked what I am. Sir, I am a Cretan Archer, first and always,” Jace boasted. “And in my wagon, I have hunting bows, and arrows straight and sturdy. All ready for a hunt.”

  Mandonius inhaled, his chest expanding as if he was a bull about to charge.

  “You’ll join me for dinner,” the War Chief instructed. “And bring one of your bows and a quiver of arrows. I want to see if the tales of Cretan Archers are true.”

  “Hopefully, I won’t disappoint you.”

  “What do we do with him?” the Captain asked.

  “Lock him in a storage room for now, and post a guard,” Mandonius answered. “Because the other thing I’ve heard about Cretan Archers, they’re trained to run long distances without rest.”

  ***

  Jace was thirsty. In a misguided gesture of hospitality, a spearman tossed a wineskin in with the prisoner. Although a nice idea, Cretan Archers didn’t partake of strong drink. And so Jace Kasia was thirsty when the guards came for him.

  They pulled the four boards that created a makeshift door from the storage space and called Jace into the corridor.

  “I need to go to my wagon before the meal,” he requested.

  “Why?” a Captain asked. “We can collect anything you need.”

  “Do you know the difference between a hunting bow and a war bow?” Jace inquired. “Between a thick spine and a pole?”

  “A pole?” the officer repeated.

  “Take me to my wagon,” Jace insisted. “The War Chief wants a demonstration of archery, and you don’t want to disappoint him.”

  “You mean, you don’t want to disappoint him.”

  “No, Captain. I mean exactly what I said,” Jace corrected. “My archery skills have been tested since I was a small boy. If you bring the wrong equipment, I’ll have you do the demonstration.”

  For a moment, the officer thought about his average and not entertaining skills with a bow and arrow.

  “Take the archer to his wagon,” he directed. “But watch for any tricks.”

  Three spearmen guided Jace down a corridor, up a short flight of steps, and along a rampart with a view of the valley. At another set of steps, they descended to the courtyard.

  ***

  Jace’s mule and wagon remained where he had left them. But the beast wasn’t alone. Other wagons from the caravan were unloading supplies for the fort. One transport belonged to the two brothers.