Jace had eighty miles of rough terrain to cross before reaching the coast and the Legion at Tarasco. He doubted the Ilergetes Tribesmen would catch him, or even see his trail.

  ***

  Unknown to Jace Kasia, he was one hundred and ninety miles northwest from Albarracín, a village at a pass through the Iberian mountain range. Albarracín happened to be the same distance from Cornelius Scipio. Except the General resided in New Carthage and the coastal city sat one hundred and ninety miles southeast from the mountain village.

  ***

  A breeze off Cartagena Bay sent fresh air through the streets of New Carthage. To the east of the city, a pavilion snugged against the hills, rocked in the gust. And while their commander prepared, nineteen Centuries of Legionaries and four Centuries of Velites waited on the road.

  “Are you sure this is wise, General?” Sidia inquired.

  He took a light riding cloak from a chest, shook out the white garment, and held it out at shoulder level.

  “I’ve prayed on it,” Cornelius replied. He allowed his bodyguard to rest the material on his shoulders and then pin the ends together at his throat. “And I received no negative signs.”

  “How often do the Gods warn you if there’s a problem?” Sidia asked.

  “Optio Decimia, almost never,” Cornelius admitted.

  He marched from the tent, glanced at the clear blue sky, and scanned the four wagons on the causeway. Then he mounted his horse.

  Waiting for General Scipio was Titus Quaeso, the Battle Commander for the Steed of Aeneas, and Centurion Ceionia, the Legions’ standard bearer.

  “We’re ready to march, sir,” Colonel Quaeso reported.

  “Unfurl the guidon,” Cornelius directed.

  Cornelius urged his horse into motion. Colonel Quaeso, Centurion Ceionia with the standard waving in the breeze, and Optio Decimia followed. Each held their mounts back to allow General Scipio to review the nineteen Centuries as he rode by. While the command staff cantered to the head of the infantry, cavalry officers dispatched two hundred horsemen. Some raced ahead to scout the line of march, others rode to the rear to secure the baggage train, and the rest trotted to the flanks to guard against an attack from the sides.

  When the command staff reached the lead Century of heavy infantrymen, Cornelius reined in at the head of the columns.

  “Steed of Aeneas, standby,” Senior Centurion Thiphilia shouted after a gaggle of Junior Tribunes settled around the General.

  His voice carried to the light infantry Centuries charged with vanguard duty.

  In response, Tribune Justus Furia ordered his standard bearer, “Centurion Usico, free the Wings of Nortus.”

  When both the Steed and the Wings waved in the morning breeze, Thiphilia thundered, “Centuries, forward.”

  The junior staff officers galloped back and ahead to officially pass on the order to begin the march.

  ***

  As the columns of fifteen hundred heavy infantrymen and their officers stepped off, the four wagons on the causeway rolled towards the formation.

  In the lead wagon, Sucra mentioned to Aurunica, “He’s very brave to make this trip.”

  “His generosity and motives are untested,” the beautiful bride cautioned. “Although he is trusting enough to bring a small detachment. However, let’s wait and see what develops before we dismiss our duty to our sisters and the Goddess Trebaruna.”

  The handmaiden bowed to Aurunica’s wisdom. They rode in silence as their wagons joined the center of the march. Soon, the walled city fell far behind as the half Legion hiked away from the ocean and journeyed into the wilds of Iberia.

  ***

  Twenty miles from New Carthage, the detachment entered a narrow pass. On their left, high above the rough wagon trail, a crown of rock jutted from the tree line.

  “What’s that,” Cornelius questioned a Junior Tribune.

  The young noblemen shifted his eyes to the land feature and back to the General.

  “Sir, I don’t know,” he said.

  “Senior Tribune Zeno,” Cornelius asked the Legion’s top staff officer, “what is that?”

  Without looking at the rock formation, Zeno answered, “That sir is the Castillo De La Asomada. Our engineers estimate it’s a thousand feet higher than the trail. But the steep sides of the rocks prevent it from being used as a fortification.”

  “An excellent rendition of facts,” Cornelius allowed. “Now I ask you, Senior Tribune, why don’t your junior officers know it? Have they never seen a map?”

  In another setting, in Rome perhaps or another Republic capital, Zeno would push back against the brash young man. But this wasn’t the Republic and Scipio wasn’t just any youth.

  “Sir, when we set up camp tonight, I’ll hold a lecture on our route,” Zeno promised.

  “In almost ten years of fighting, Hannibal has butchered our top commanders and one out of every five able-bodied Latin men,” Cornelius reminded him. “These youths are the future leaders of Legions. Our duty is to train them. Teach them to be aware of their surroundings and how to use the land to defeat an enemy.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand,” Zeno acknowledged.

  Cornelius twisted in his saddle to face another junior staff officer.

  “What is the order of march for entering a narrow gap?” he inquired.

  “Sir, two Centuries of skirmishers through to check for ambushes,” the Junior Tribune replied. “Followed by two squadrons of cavalry to return and report any trouble. Velites on the high ground to the sides, and two Centuries of heavy infantry at the rear to guard against an attack on our supplies.”

  “An excellent answer,” Cornelius announced.

  As he spoke, skirmishers raced ahead of the columns, light infantrymen climbed the hills to the sides of the trail, and two Centuries of heavy infantrymen fell out of the line of march. The Legionaries would wait and close in behind the supply wagons at the rear.

  What no Centurion or Tribune witnessed was an NCO of light infantry who kept pace with the bridal party. From high on the hill, he waved down at the women in the wagons and made rude gestures towards them. In his defense, Optio Obellie had been drinking since the day before.

  “Women like me,” he boasted to one of his Veles.

  “I’m sure they do, Optio,” the light infantrymen agreed.

  But as everyone did when Obellie began drinking, he shifted as far away as possible from the obnoxious drunk.

  ***

  Once through the gap, a unit of Tribunes, Centurions, and skirmishers separated two wagons from the supply transports. They rushed ahead of the march and crossed the Segura River.

  Five miles on the far side of the gap, Castillo De La Asomada was still visible behind the detachment. From a distance, the natural formation on the heights resembled a fort, but it wasn’t. Ahead of them, the low walls of Murcia did not appear to be the ramparts, but they were.

  “Why build a marching camp? Why not camp in that town?” a Junior Tribune inquired. The youth pointed at Murcia. “With those knee walls, they wouldn’t turn us away. No, I stand corrected, they dare not refuse us.”

  “They don’t need high walls,” Senior Centurion Thiphilia told him. “Notice the tall grasses between the clumps of trees. They signal swamplands. If we attacked down the road, they could hold us off for days. And if we went off the road, we’d be up to our knees in sticky mud for a week.”

  “Then we should avoid the city and find dry ground for the marching camp.”

  “And that’s what we’ll do,” the Legion’s senior combat officer stated.

  Shortly after the talk, they walked their horses down the embankment and swam the animals across the Segura River.

  ***

  A half mile beyond the river, the advance party set stakes for the corners of the marching camp. Inside those boundaries, they designated bivouac areas for the tents of infantrymen, the headquarters pavilion, spaces for more tents for Centuries, a wagon park, and an animal pen.

  Back in the marching columns, the wagons of the bridal party reached the river.

  “The light infantry will push them across,” Obellie directed, waving off the nearby heavy infantrymen. Then he assured Aurunica, Sucra, Ylli, and the last member of the bride’s party. “Ladies, you are in good hands. We’ll get you across safe and dry.”

  As the Velites ran to the wheels, the sides, and the backs of the wagons, a Centurion from third Maniple noted the assistance. Typically, his Tribune would supervise the crossing. But his staff officer, a more senior Tribune, remained back in New Carthage with the other half of Steed Legion. With the wagons being helped, and even though the Optio in charge kept taking streams from a wineskin, the veteran combat officer figured everything was running well. He crossed with his Legionaries and ignored the bridal party.

  From the wagons, Ylli observed, “That Optio might be trouble.”

  “Sucra,” Aurunica remarked.

  “I noticed,” she responded. “If he gets out of line, something will have to be done.”

  Propelled by the horses and the muscles of the light infantrymen, the four wagons plowed through the water of the Segura River, climbed the far bank, and rolled towards the marching camp.

  The NCO who oversaw the crossing jogged up beside the lead wagon.

  “I’m Optio Obellie. It has been a great honor to help. Perhaps…”

  Drunk and overly excited, the NCO’s wet combat sandals crossed, and his ankles locked together. He dropped face down into the grass as the wagons rolled by.

  “Come on, Optio,” one of his Veles said as he yanked the NCO to his feet. “The Centurion has us scouting to the east.”

  “I was just trying to be polite,” Obellie whined while struggling to stand. “Some people don’t understand gratitude or appreciate the work of others.”

  “If we don’t get moving, the Centurion will come over to see why we’re still here,” the light infantrymen urged. “You don’t want him to see you like this.”

  “Women are trouble. Dangerous curves, I tell you,” Obellie slurred. Then the words of his man sank into his wine-soaked brain. “Hades. Do I look that bad?”

  “Red eyes, wine breath, you sound like a bent file being pulled along the edge of a sheet of copper, and you can barely stand.”

  “Pretty bad?”

  “Nothing a good hike won’t cure,” the infantrymen assured him.

  With the intoxicated NCO in tow, the Veles marched him to their squads. After everyone had a good laugh at the mishaps of their Optio, they jogged off to the east. A pair ran on either side of Obellie to keep him upright and moving.

  ***

  In the almost completed marching camp, the bridal party was directed to the area where wagons were parked. Animal handlers unharnessed the horses, and a staff officer greeted the women.

  “Ma’am,” the Tribune invited Aurunica, “General Scipio has requested the pleasure of your company this evening.”

  “What if I don’t want to join the General?” she inquired.

  “In that case, ma’am, I’m ordered to select a seasoned Century and assign them to protect you for the night,” the officer replied. “You’ll be safe with eighty Legionaries sleeping around you.”

  Ylli, the youngest of the bridal party, made a sour expression and offered, “Men snore. And eighty will sound like a tempest.”

  Sucra bristled at the impetuous description. Before she could voice a reprimand, Aurunica placed a hand on Sucra’s arm.

  “We will be joining the General, once we’ve collected a few things,” Aurunica told the Tribune.

  “Very good ma’am, he’ll be expecting you.”

  On one side of the wagon park, cavalry horses, mules, and draft animals were enclosed. Beyond the rope pens, cavalry squadrons pitched their tents. On another side of the animal pens, a minor argument broke out.

  “My Century has been digging trenches,” a Centurion complained. “Your people are out hiking in the countryside. You take the spot next to the animals.”

  Weak as a combat officer, a poor leader and defender of his men, the other Centurion folded.

  “Fine. I’ll let Obellie know when the Century gets back from their patrol.”

  ***

  The addition of four women to the command mess kept the Tribunes and senior Centurions on their best behavior. Of all the attendees, Cornelius seemed to enjoy the female companionship the most.

  “The worst part of campaigning is being away from family,” he proposed.

  “Then why do it?” Aurunica questioned. “Your enemy is Hannibal Barca and he’s in your Republic. Not in my Iberia.”

  “Your Iberia sends silver, copper, and gold to finance the Carthaginian,” Cornelius answered. “Grain to feed his forces, and men to swell his ranks. And that is why I am here, far from my wife and children.”

  “As much as I dislike the outcome,” Aurunica commented, “your argument is valid.”

  Behind Cornelius, Sidia stood silently, his eyes catching any quick movement. About halfway through the meal, a Tribune jumped to his feet to make an impassioned plea for his side of an argument. At the swift rise, Sidia looked for a drawn weapon or a threatening gesture. Then, he noticed Sucra’s eyes. They were scanning the loud staff officer as well. After the man regained his seat and his composure, Sidia paid additional attention to the handmaiden. More than once, their gazes met as they both examined the guests for threats.

  “The way she’s acting, I wonder who she’s guarding,” Sidia Decimia thought to himself.

  When the feast broke up, servants guided the women to a separate tent, and Sidia followed Cornelius Scipio to his quarters.

  “That was a delightful evening,” Cornelius declared. “I am sorry you didn’t have a chance to speak with that lovely young woman, Sucra.”

  “As odd as it may sound, sir,” Sidia told him. “We shared a few moments during the evening.”

  “That’s good,” Cornelius offered.

  ***

  In a separate tent of the pavilion area, Aurunica gathered her three handmaidens to her.

  “What did we learn?” she asked.

  “General Scipio is well protected,” Sucra explained. “Not once was his cup unguarded. And there was never an opening for a blade to reach his neck or his chest.”

  “I agree,” Aurunica granted. “What else came to light this evening?”

  “General Scipio is a family man,” the other stated. “He speaks fondly of hearth and home. That combined with the way he’s treated us, reveals a man of honor.”

  “But he allowed savagery and brutality when his Legionaries captured New Carthage,” Ylli cautioned. “He is dangerous.”

  “Excellent points. Now ladies, we should pray to the Goddess of Hearths and Mysteries,” Aurunica announced. “Ylli, please present the image of Trebaruna for our prayer circle.”

  The youngest of the wedding party stepped back while clamping her hands over her mouth. Wide-eyed at first, she blinked as tears welled up.

  “I left our lady in the wagon,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

  “We are a small group,” Aurunica informed her. “Far from home and away from our sisters. To be without the light of our lady, is disheartening.”

  Ylli ran to a stand and snatched her hooded robe from the wooden peg. After throwing the robe over her shoulders and the hood over her head, the young woman slipped out of the tent.

  Sucra smirked and indicated the exit with a nod of her head.

  “No. She is young,” Aurunica said. “She must learn her duties.”

  “In a camp with two thousand warriors,” the fourth woman emphasized. “Full of men who savaged New Carthage.”

  “Ylli is the least mature of us,” Aurunica proclaimed. “She has to learn responsibilities. We’ll let her amend this sin of forgetfulness.”

  “Late at night, in a Legion camp,” Sucra advised.

  ***

  At the wagon park, Ylli wandered between transports. When they rode in, the sun was up. Now, in the middle of the night, the wagons were dark shapes on wheels.

  “They all look the same,” she sobbed. Terror at not being able to find and retrieve the statuette of the Goddess sent shivers through her body. Not thinking, Ylli ranted. “Where are you? You, stupid wagon.”

  “Can I help you?” a voice from behind her slurred. Ylli shook in fright, when he added. “Not so high and mighty down in the dirt with us animals.”

  Ylli spun to face the speaker. In the dark she couldn’t make out his features. But that was unnecessary, by then she knew it was the rude Optio from the hills and the river.

  “I have to go,” the young woman announced.

  Obellie reached out and clamped his hand over her throat. Squeezing, so she couldn’t scream, he walked her backwards to the end of the wagon park. At the animal pen, he dipped them under the corral rope.

  “You treated me like an animal,” Obellie growled in her ear. “Now, I’ll show you how an animal treats you.”

  As much as she struggled, the fingers pressing into her throat controlled her body. And when he spoke, the sour wine stink took her breath away. The only thing the young woman had control of was her faith.

  “Goddess Trebaruna, preserve me,” Ylli prayed before everything went black.

  Act 4

  Chapter 10 - Imagine a Fourth Threat

  Dawn in the Legion camp found Legionaries packing their tents and gear. As the four women and their servants strolled from the command pavilion, the men along their route stopped work to stare. And who could blame them? Each member of the bridal party was prettier than the other.

  During their passage, a shout of alarm came from the animal pens.

  “We have a body,” a handler screamed. “Looks like an infantryman.”

  Centurions raced around, shouting for a roll call of their Centuries, to be sure everyone was accounted for. A light infantryman from a squad near the pens ducked under the rope and approached the dead man.

  “It’s Obellie. I think,” the Veles called to his squad.

  “What do you mean think?” his squad leader insisted. “Is it the Optio or not?”