After taking a long drink of water for himself, Jace watered and fed the mule.

  “Sorry for the neglect,” he said as the animal chewed the feed. “But you’ll like the young trader.”

  Then he changed footwear. Off went the tradesman’s soft sandals for the beaten soil of a caravan. And on went the thick soled combat sandals of the Mogente tribe.

  “Yo, boy,” he called before pulling two bow cases and two quivers of arrows from the wagon. “Give me a silver coin.”

  The boy jogged over from his brother’s wagon. His face contorted in a puzzled expression, the young trader questioned, “A silver coin? I don’t understand.”

  “One coin for one big endeavor,” Jace replied.

  Reaching into a mostly empty coin purse, the youth shuffled aside bronze coins until he located one shiny coin. He extracted it and placed the silver in Jace’s outstretched palm.

  “You’ve just purchased a mule and a wagon, plus bow making tools and supplies,” Jace explained. “Now take the deal and go make a profit.”

  Dumfounded by the exchange, the youth led the mule and wagon to his brother. While the two traders held an animated conversation, Jace pointed to the steps.

  “Let’s go,” he instructed the guards. “We don’t want to keep the War Chief waiting.”

  ***

  Tables and chairs had been carried to a deck patio and placed in a semicircle pattern. All faced the valley, giving each attendee a panoramic view, while allowing them to see Mandonius. Of the six chairs on each side of the War Chief, all but two were occupied. One on the right end sat empty while the other vacant seat was on the War Chief’s immediate left.

  “Our Cretan Archer finally makes his appearance,” Mandonius proclaimed from the center seat.

  Jace reached the top of the steps and approached the banquet from the side of the patio.

  “Am I late, sir?” he inquired.

  “No,” Mandonius told him. He indicated the chair on the far right. “We saved you a seat.”

  Jace crossed to the end of the seating and rested the bow cases and quivers against a short wall. Then, following his training, he leaned over and estimated the height to the lower level.

  “I’ve stationed spearmen down there just in case you decide to leave the feast early,” Mandonius warned.

  Turning and putting his back to the wall, Jace smiled and suggested, “There’s another empty seat. Perhaps archery following dinner, after your guest arrives.”

  The Captains and Lieutenants seated on both sides of the War Chief all looked down at the empty tabletop. It appeared as if they bowed their heads in prayer. But it wasn’t a ritual or an honor, as Jace discovered when the War Chief snapped.

  “The guest I reserved this seat for will not be joining us. As she hasn’t for months of sleepless nights,” Mandonius said in a threatening manner. “It’s why I was so happy to get my hands on a Roman officer. If I can’t touch my Ama, at least, I can wash my hands in the blood of a Roman.”

  For no good reason, Jace congratulated himself on the success of his assignment. Not on the completion of the mission, he would have to escape and make it back to the Legion at Tarraco for that. But he had uncovered the value of Scipio’s hostages. The daughters were needed to secure a Kingdom, and the wife, Ama, controlled the Tribe’s War Chief, and therefore the entire Ilergetes army.

  “Can I assume the evening’s entertainment is archery,” Jace asked. “And not my disembowelment.”

  “You assume correctly,” Mandonius promised. “That pleasure, I’m reserving for late tomorrow morning. That’ll give me a long sleepless night to anticipate your death.”

  Jace reached for a bow case. As he touched the oiled skin, four spearmen rushed onto the patio.

  “I have no interest in sacrificing my life,” Jace remarked to Mandonius. “You are safe from my arrows. But I would ask that your strongest man step forward.”

  “Are you going to kill him?”

  “No, sir,” Jace said as he bent the war bow behind his knee. “I simply want him to draw the bowstring and release an arrow. If he can.”

  Chapter 8 – The Final Trick

  An almost lifetime of training allowed Jace to stretch the bowstring, demonstrating the proper technique for bending the bow. After gently easing the tension, he offered the war bow and a thick-spined arrow to a husky Lieutenant.

  “Over the defensive wall and a little uphill is a dead birch tree,” Jace directed as he offered the war bow to the Lieutenant. “Find the wasp nest and put the arrow in it.”

  “I don’t see a nest,” the man admitted while stretching the big muscles of his chest and shoulders. “A dangling nest would be wasps. Hornet nests are inside the bark. And you can’t see them.”

  “He’s got you there, Archer,” Mandonius informed Jace.

  “Then put this arrow in the tree about ten feet up from the ground,” Jace told the junior officer.

  After another session of flexing his shoulders, the Lieutenant took the bow and notched the arrow. Holding the bowstring between the fingers of one hand and the belly of the bow with the other, he elevated his arms and put tenson on the bowstring. A heartbeat later, he lowered the bow in an attempt to draw the bowstring by pushing down on the bow. The string barely moved.

  “Pulling a war bow requires practice and training,” Jace said while taking the bow and the arrow from the officer.

  “No one can effectively use that weapon,” the junior officer complained.

  Jace drew, aimed at the tree, and released.

  Zip-Thwack!

  Ten feet off the ground, the thick arrow split and peeled off a section of bark. A swarm of hornets emerged from the breach and from access holes. Soon a cloud of angry hornets buzzed around the birch tree.

  “Excellent,” Mandonius declared. “The placement proved the existence of a hornet’s nest, and the heavy draw proved the Archer’s proficiency with a war bow. What else, Tribune?”

  The addition of his Legion association was a thinly veiled reminder that Jace was under a sentence of death. The War Chief had not forgotten, but neither had Jace.

  Servants came from a doorway holding pots and platters. Each steamed with a prepared dish.

  “Should we wait until after we eat?” Jace inquired.

  “One more demonstration while they set the tables,” the War Chief told him.

  Jace selected a thick arrow and a thin one as he walked to the other side of the patio. As he crossed, platters were placed on the tables and pots set on stands. In a smooth pull and release, the Cretan Archer launched the thick arrow into the sky.

  The guests craned their necks and watched its flight. Soaring upwards at first, but after a shallow climb, the arrow arched over. Gasps came from the officers when they realized the arrowhead was coming right at the tables.

  Zip-Thwack!

  A streak, quicker than a blink, crossed from Jace’s bow and impacted the think arrow. From targeting the seated officers, the thin arrow drove the threatening one off to the side. They fell harmlessly over a section of wall, falling to the ground below the patio.

  ***

  Dodging danger, even if there was little chance of being struck by the descending arrow, brought a roar of approval from the War Chief and his guests.

  “Now we eat,” Mandonius exclaimed. When Jace had taken his seat, the Chief explained. “See the valley below us. It’s more than lush farmland. We are located on the northern edge of Ilergetes territory. From here we can ship food to every part of our homeland. And from the fort, I can stop an enemy attack at our borders. And if Lleida is attacked, I can march to my brother’s aid.”

  “Meaning the Fort at Algerri is the seat of King Indibilis’ power,” Jace stated.

  “And the truth is revealed,” Mandonius announced.

  “I don’t understand,” Jace admitted.

  “You’re a spy and your ability to gather information for Rome has been exposed.”

  “But you just told me about the importance of the fort.”

  “Drink Archer Kasia, eat Tribune Kasia,” Mandonius directed. “Because tomorrow, you won’t have the stomach for it.”

  The cruel joke, referencing Jace’s fate, brought laughter from the officers.

  With no thought to the poverty and suffering of most of the tribe, Mandonius and his commanders ate and drank with relish. Jace isolated a pitcher of water and matched them glass for glass. Except, while he drank water, their cups were filled with strong wine.

  ***

  Near dusk, Mandonius slumped over the table and pointed an unsteady arm at Jace.

  “Archer. Another trick,” he demanded.

  “My pleasure, War Chief.”

  From the tabletop in front of Mandonius, Jace took a pair of beeswax candles. Carrying them to the wall by his chair, he set them a hands width apart. The wicks wobbled in the early evening breeze, forcing Jace to cup them with his hands.

  “A good trick,” Mandonius slurred. “Do you plan to dance for us in the candlelight?”

  “I do so wish I could,” Jace replied. “But it’s too soon.”

  Mistaking the term dance as entertainment rather than the Cretan term for maneuvering and fighting, the officers laughed at the hopelessness of the condemned man.

  “Maybe later,” a Captain teased.

  “Maybe,” Jace agreed as he pulled his hunting bow from the case. With his body blocking the view, he put the war bow and several arrows on the top of the wall. Then he bent and strung his hunting bow. During the turn to face the banquet, the tip of the hunting bow brushed the war bow. The heavy weapon and the arrows fell, unseen, off the wall. “Now if I can have your attention.”

  Hands pounded on the tables and more wine was splashed into glasses held askew. Missing lips, a good portion of the wine spilled onto the tabletops.

  “This better be good,” the big Lieutenant proposed.

  “I’m not one to grade his own skills,” Jace told the junior officer while notching two arrows on the bowstring. “But it does go quick. Pay attention.”

  “Pay attention,” Mandonius insisted.

  At the urging of the War Chief, the guests settled.

  “What are you doing?” a Captain asked.

  “Extinguishing two candles at one time,” Jace said.

  “That’s easy,” the officer scoffed, “all you have to do is blow.”

  “From across the patio?” Jace asked as he rotated the bow from a vertical hold to a horizontal position.

  Zip-Thwack / Zip-Thwack

  The pair of arrows flashed across the patio. They skimmed the tops of the candles, touching only the wicks. And as if the arrowheads had stolen the light, both flames died. The shafts continued for a short distance before tumbling to the level below the patio.

  “And that, War Chief, concludes the evening’s entertainment,” Jace announced. He marched to the bow case, dropped the hunting bow in, and tied off the end of the case. “You don’t mind if I keep these?”

  “In fact, I do,” Mandonius answered. “Guards, escort the Roman Tribune to his accommodations. And take the bows and arrows from him.”

  Jace grabbed a pitcher of wine from the table before walking away from the feast. Behind him, the War Chief chuckled at the theft.

  Four spearmen escorted Jace to the steps. Down on the rampart, Jace glanced, ever so briefly, at the flat area beneath the patio. Then the guards pushed him to the next set of steps. They descended to the corridor where Jace doubled over.

  “I had too much wine,” he complained. “I’d gladly trade this pitcher of red for a waterskin. Any takers?”

  “I have water,” a spearman offered. He lifted the strap of a waterskin from his shoulder. “It’s not a problem. I’ll get it back in the morning.”

  Jace handed off the wine and dropped the strap over his shoulder.

  “Thank you,” he said before walking into the storage room.

  While the spearmen placed boards over the entrance, Jace Kasia pulled out several slices of lamb he’d salvaged from dinner. Carefully, he wrapped them in a piece of leather before tying the ends to his belt.

  “Water, a meal, arrows, and a bow,” he whispered. “Everything I’ll need.”

  Cretan Archer Kasia sat in a corner of the storage room to rest. Sometime in the middle of the night, when most of the occupants of the fort were asleep, he would leave – quietly, if possible.

  ***

  In the Fort of Algerri, night noises were composed of men on watch whispering to each other, footsteps of a few more assigned to walking posts, and the snoring of sleeping men. Groans, like the ones coming from the storage room, were rare.

  “Are you alright?” the young guard asked.

  From the cracks between the boards, he received a reply.

  “Water. If I don’t get water, I’m afraid, ugh…”

  “Afraid what?” the spearman inquired.

  The voice, weak and pleading, responded, “I’ll die, and your War Chief will be cheated out of…ugh.”

  “What? Cheated out of what?” the spearman questioned.

  “Move one board, take the waterskin, and have someone refill it.”

  “I don’t know about this,” the spearman admitted.

  “His retribution for having his wife spirited away. Oh, ugh, water.”

  A truth of all armies, the overnight guard for a single detainee was often chosen because he was the newest member of a unit, and most likely, the least experienced. Facing the possibility that his War Chief’s prisoner would die before Mandonius could extract revenge for his wife, the guard slid the crossbeam away from one board.

  Then he shifted the board, creating an opening just wide enough to pass an item through.

  “Hand me the waterskin,” he urged. “Quickly.”

  “I’m on my knees,” the voice whined. “Reach in and take it.”

  The arm extended through the gap. With his fingers, the guard searched for the strap to the waterskin. For a heartbeat, the youthful spearmen thought, “this is a bad idea.”

  Then steel like fingers gripped the young spearmen’s wrist.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  At the third jerk of his arm, and the third collision of the guard’s head with the door boards, the spearman went limp. Jace released him, extended his arm through the opening, and shoved the crossbeam aside.

  ***

  At the top of the steps, the Cretan Archer dropped to his belly. Crawling under the patio, he collected his war bow and the arrows. Then, he crept to the far wall. From the patio, the drop-off to the exterior of the fort appeared high and too dangerous for a leap.

  Jace shoved the arrows in his belt, slung the war bow over his shoulder, and shimmied his legs off the wall. Hanging by his fingertips cut the drop nearly in half. He let go and fell.

  Once outside the fort, Jace headed for the dead birch tree, being sure he scuffed the dirt as he went. For good measure, he dropped the two broken arrows on the path as he scaled the slope.

  ***

  Another truth of the military, a good NCO would wake early and check on his least experienced soldier. Following the standard, Sergeant Betin entered the corridor expecting to find his charge asleep. Silently, he approached the entrance to the storage room.

  “Better me than the Lieutenant,” the NCO uttered. “Wake up, soldier.”

  But the corridor was empty. And while the crossbeam still bolted the doorway, there was no guard.

  A muffled plea from inside the storage room called, “Help. Help.”

  It came out welp, welp. But to an experienced NCO, like Betin, the meaning was clear. He pushed the beam off the brackets, drew his sword, kicked the boards aside, and found his missing spearman.

  Naked, tied, gagged, and looking pitiful, the guard wiggled, trying to escape.

  “The Roman is gone,” Sergeant Betin bellowed. “Search the fort. Get up and get moving.”

  While the officers and commanders slept off the after-effects of too much wine, the spearmen and soldiers came awake and searched the fort. In moments, a report from the rampart alerted them to the tracks and broken arrows.

  Betin and twenty spearmen left the fort, jogged around the back, and down the hill to where they picked up the trail.

  “He went up the slope,” a tracker advised. “He’s not that far ahead.”

  “Be leery, the Roman has a short sword,” Betin instructed. “Stay close.”

  Two abreast, with spears leveled, the tightly packed search party raced up the hill. Betin and the scout were at the front, both scanning the crest of the slope as they approached the old birch tree.

  They didn’t see the slim strips of linen and leather. Or how the rag rope held an arched branch that suppressed a twelve-foot-tall sapling. When Betin tripped over the rope, the branch released the young tree.

  “I’m alright,” the Sergeant assured his men. “Let’s get after the…”

  Ten feet above their heads the branches of the sapling slapped against the arrow shaft. As if pried with a lever, the shaft ripped away birch bark, exposing more of the hornet’s nest. Angry at the intrusion, the entire nest of hornets swarmed down and attacked the twenty spearmen and their Sergeant.

  Chapter 9 – Dangerous Curves

  Daybreak found Jace east of the fort and deep in the mountains. He sat in the fork between two branches watching Ilergetes riders gallop up a ravine. Even after they passed, he remained hidden among the leaves and the limbs. Having pushed hard throughout the night, he decided to rest in the concealment. But it wasn’t exhaustion keeping Jace in the tree. A Cretan Archer could run for days. Rather, he waited as part of his plan to evade the pursuers. From the ridge above, Jace knew the ravine ended at a pair of steep sided rocks. Too steep for climbing, meaning the riders would come back.

  Sure enough, a short while later, they returned. But their rapid gait had been traded for surveillance methods. Of the five riders, two watched the dirt trail for signs of human footprints while the other three scanned the bushes and the slopes. A very effective tactic for catching a frightened rabbit. Not so good for tracking a Cretan Archer who was as sure of his fieldcraft as a lynx was while on the hunt.