The General and the Spy by Richard Barrs

Richard Andrew Barrs

CHAPTER 1 Retribution 9

CHAPTER 2 A Girl Named Julia 25

Chapter 3 Born to be Killed Page 49

Chapter 4 More Precious Than Silver Page 63

Chapter 5 A Cave Called Home Page 77

Chapter 6 The Mountain of Silver Page 93

Chapter 7 A Family Reunited; A Family Lost Page 109

Chapter 8 A Stormâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Fury Page 127

Chapter 9 Arishat Page 143

Chapter 10 Ignoble Beast Page 159

Chapter 11 To Act with Circumspection Page 173

Chapter 12 The Propositions Page 205

Chapter 13 End of a Betrothal Page 221

Chapter 14 Fire and Water Do Mix Page 239

Chapter 15 With Tralenusâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Sword Page 255

Chapter 16 Comitia Centuriata Page 269

BOOKS BY RICHARD BARRS Two Spies and a General Javen: The Curse and the Apogee Sign

For more information, please visit: www.herotyrus.com

is book two in the Bemman Chronicles

A million thanks arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough for my mother, who prompted me to write this sequel. What began as a chore became a fabulous story I now love, thanks to her motivation. This book is a monument to the rampant political corruption which has held and seems to hold this world hostage.

CHAPTER 1 Retribution Renea spun, her black eyes snapping fire. “Don’t talk like that! I don’t understand you Hero. We’re here for one reason: you’re afraid. You’re afraid that your prize will be injured or killed. To you, it’s fine that my father stays in Rome while we hide.” “Your accusations are insulting. I haven’t tried to hide our reason for coming, yet you yell at me like that is exactly what I am doing! What I did, and what your father finished, made enemies. It’s impossible to protect you or Melsia in Rome, your father agrees with me. One knife in the crowd and it’s over.” Hero followed her furious pace through the vineyard. Their arguments since leaving Rome were becoming more frequent. “Nice, use my father to validate your actions. All you had to do was mention the dangers and he probably agreed. What else could he do, ignore the warning?” Renea faced Hero again. “If he stays in Rome, I should too. Is that thought so foreign to you?” Hero rolled his eyes. “It was he who decided on this course of action! If I had my way, I’d follow ten paces behind you in the streets and wait to catch the murderer. That’s definitely the more logical way of protecting you.” Renea smiled grimly. “Sarcasm doesn’t make you right.”

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“Since you seem to only trust your father’s judgment, I’ll end the argument with this: we’re staying until your father’s messenger arrives.” Hero walked to the edge of the field as several horsemen rode past the end of the row Renea ran past him. “You were saying what about the messenger?” Hero grabbed her arm roughly, “Wait here!” he hissed, pushing her to the ground. “That isn’t good.” He pointed to the sky and a thick column of smoke which, because of the argument, had gone unnoticed. Hero checked both directions and sprinted from the cover of the vines to the house, half of which was rolling flames. Smoke poured from the door and Hero gagged. He ripped part of his tunic and placed it over his mouth. “David! Melsia! Brucania!” Hero shouted, running through the rooms. He couldn’t see anything, worse he couldn’t hear anything. Someone grabbed his ankle. “Brucania!” Hero dropped to his knees. Blood spread in every direction from a deep gash on Brucania’s back. “Hero!” David bellowed. Glancing over his shoulder, Hero saw his brother hunched over Melsia, who wasn’t moving. Hero gave Brucania his cloth, “I’ll be back,” and moved to David’s side. “The fire is spreading fast, we need to move her!” He shouted over the roar. As he grabbed her limp arms David took her feet and they ran for the hallway, trying not to breathe the noxious smoke. Hero’s breath gave out and he inhaled a lungful. He coughed until they reached the open skies where Hero nearly dropped Melsia in the grass. He rested on one

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knee while David lay on his back heaving. Regaining his feet, he prepared to re-enter. After a huge breath, Hero dashed back into the building which was now an inferno. He could barely see or breathe through the smoke. Halfway to the room, he ran into Brucania who was using the walls to brace himself while struggling for the exit. Brucania fell into Hero’s arms. As a beam, with the accompanying ceiling, crashed to the floor across the room, Hero felt desperation swell. With a frantic push, he dragged Brucania along the stone. They reached an open space and Hero collapsed on Brucania bracing himself on all fours, intent on checking him, but his eyes clouded over. His lungs felt singed and his head was fuzzy. Gravel dug into Hero’s knees and he realized they weren’t outside but still in the central courtyard of the house. The house entrance wasn’t far, a straight shot from where they were, but at that moment it seemed impossible. Grabbing Brucania, who was blissfully unconscious, he lifted him to his shoulders. He made it ten steps before he sagged and they both hit the floor. He slipped out of consciousness as hands grabbed him. “Are you all right?” A voice echoed in Hero’s ears. “Are you all right?” Hero opened his eyes and saw David anxiously looking down. “Thanks.” The word brought on a fit of coughs. When he recovered, he glanced over at Melsia, who was lying next to him, “Is she all right?” “She’s dead.” The voice was empty. “Brucania will live, I think. I covered the wound.” David rose. “Where are you going?” Hero asked and hacked violently several times.

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David didn’t answer but headed for the stables. Hero took several deep breaths and stood. With a heavy sigh, he followed his brother to the stable where David was saddling a horse. “It’s madness David.” Hero reached for David, but was pushed aside. “No, it’s suicide,” he corrected himself. “Do you know how many there were?” “Stay with Renea. I go.” David mounted. “Have you seen her?” Hero didn’t wait for an answer, but ran to the spot in the field where he’d left her; she wasn’t there. The ground was deeply marked with hoof prints as though someone attempted to escape. Hero ran to the stables and found his brother already saddling another horse, having seen Hero’s vain search. Hero retrieved two swords from a rack. Mounting, they charged down the steep hill that led from the house and followed the men, a task which proved easy with villagers pointing the direction. As Hero began to worry they would lose their quarry in the coming sun set, several tethered horses ahead gave him hope. The strangers looked up in surprise at the brother’s mad gallop. Hero vaulted from his horse as they drew near, but David continued and trampled the first man before leaping to the ground. The men drew their swords and angrily closed with David. Hero’s opponent was slow and left his side open to a vicious thrust. David ran among the trees, turning occasionally to wildly swing at one of the six men pursuing. Hero followed and caught the last with a downward hack. Three of them turned and fell on Hero with a fury while the other two continued after David.

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“Get the girl,” a grizzled looking man grunted between strikes with Hero. Hero jumped at the man who moved for Renea and severed his outstretched hand. He then pummeled the second to the ground with the hilt of his sword. “Treaus, behind you!” Someone shouted. The grizzled leader didn’t have time to react before his right leg was cut out from under him by David who laughed sadistically as he ran. Curses followed David, but the two remaining couldn’t catch him. The two changed course and rushed Hero at the same time, knocking him to the ground. Renea screamed and rushed forward, but was shoved into a tree. The argument that morning now seemed very silly to Hero as he lay staring at a man not many years older than himself about to thrust him through. Suddenly, red filled his vision as blood cascaded, followed by a head on his chest and David’s laugh. Hero grabbed his dead executioner’s sword and stabbed the last man standing. Hero slowly stood as a thunk sounded and a head landed at his feet. “What are you doing?” He asked, watching David proceed toward the next corpse. No answer was necessary as a swing brought the head count to three. Hero looked away, repulsed. Lifting an unconscious Renea, he mounted his horse, and laid her gently across the saddle. With a last glance toward his brother who was impaling the heads on their own swords, and surrounding them with various body parts, which he was removing one at a time, Hero turned his horse in the direction of the smoke and what used to be a home.

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Hero was thoughtful as he rode back to the ruins. His hands absently ran over Renea’s cheek and curly black hair. When they finally neared the hill, he shook her and she groggily came to. She snapped awake, and tensed until she recognized Hero. As she dismounted, her knees buckled to the ground and her hand trembled upon seeing Melsia’s pale lifeless face clearly in the moonlight. A low moan escaped her lips. Hero placed his hand on her shoulder comfortingly. Tears fell and her head bowed to the dirt. Hero joined Brucania who had further patched himself up and was sleeping close to the smoldering ruins to ward off the evening chill. Hero checked the bandages without waking him and joined David, who had returned and was in the stable. Hero expected to find David removing the saddle, but he was sitting in the dark on a pile of hay. He sat next to his brother but neither spoke for several minutes. “Why?” The voice could barely be heard by Hero, inches away. “I don’t know.” Hero answered. “If we’d…” David began to say, but the words died. Hero didn’t trust himself to answer with a steady voice.

a “She should be presented to the public.” Renea said as she approached Hero from behind. “I’m sorry it can’t be so but you know we can’t.” Hero reached out for her hand which trembled at the touch. “Will David be all right?” They both looked towards the immobile figure of David before Melsia’s pyre.

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“I hope so,” Hero sighed and finished tying bags to the side of his horse. “Where are you taking us?” Renea asked, searching for something to do. “Somewhere safe,” Hero replied, placing his forehead against the saddle, “Rome is not safe.” He answered the question Renea would not ask. “You believe this is retribution?” Her voice shook with emotion. “They were paid for this deed.” Hero reached into his clothing and pulled three pouches of money. “From the men who took you.” he explained. “We will bury her ashes, and then we must leave.” “Then we must run,” Renea said before walking from the stables to the dying embers of Melsia’s funeral pyre. “Yes, run,” Hero whispered.

a “David?” Hero joined his brother gazing across the ocean. “All I see is her smile, and it haunts me.” David placed his face in his hands and exhaled. “Trouble was the brother who was with you throughout your short life,” he spoke to the waves. Hero sighed on hearing this, “She did have a difficult life. But… she is gone.” Hero turned away to go below decks. “Thank you for telling me that,” David’s voice was hard. “Enjoy your sleep.” Hero paused a moment, but continued below. He stretched out in an open space, letting the rocking ship help his mind drift to sleep.

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The moan gained strength and in his dream a small fire grew to an inferno. A scream jerked him from sleep and he lurched to a sitting position with a grunt. Hero’s hands shook as they wiped the sweat from his brow. He gripped them together to control the trembling. Something brushed his arm, and he scurried backward against the side. “It’s me.” Renea said quietly, following him to his corner. Her hand moved down his arm until it found his hand. “Do you forgive me?” Hero’s voice shook. “It was not your doing,” Renea pleaded for understanding. “It wasn’t,” Hero repeated, followed softer with, “It wasn’t.” “I know you would have given your life for Melsia or any other in her position. I know that, and I love you for that. It’s tearing me apart knowing you blame yourself, as it would have torn her apart.” Renea lifted the hand to her lips and Hero could feel tears deposited. Hero pulled his hand away as it began to shake uncontrollably. The captain’s voice rang down the hatch. He rose and moved forward, only pausing briefly on hearing Renea repeat, “It wasn’t your fault.” “What’s the matter?” Hero asked on reaching the deck with Brucania in tow. “Pirates want to inspect us,” the Captain used a wine bottle to point out a skiff being pulled by ten slaves. “Inspect?” Hero’s brow wrinkled. “They are searching for Roman agents. It’s become open warfare out here. You told me you were from Capua, don’t repeat that. You are now a native of Puteoli. Don’t forget.” The captain greeted the boarding

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pirates with a smile and bottle of wine. They all wore tattered tunics and enough gold jewelry to cause hoards of Roman ladies to go green with envy. Hero couldn’t hear the conversation, but several glances were cast in his direction. The leader eyed Hero speculatively before drawing his sword and walking toward him. Not a word was spoken, instead the sword swung, stopping inches from Hero’s neck. “I just saved your life. You owe me.” The pirate said in a thick accent, holding his stance over Hero who was shaking his head at Brucania, who was behind them with a hidden sword. “Is that what it takes?” Hero asked, returning his attention to the smelly man in front of him. As the man began to nod, Hero drove his palm into the man’s nose, pushed away the blade and laid his own knife against the man’s throat. “I guess this makes us even.” Hero pushed the man away. The other three men who had boarded drew their swords at the aggression. “Halt.” Their leader shouted, waving in the air and patting Hero on the arm. “We’re even. But you must join us. Captain Copiun is always looking for good men, and that was good.” Hero shook his head, “I cannot.” The man was clearly displeased with the answer. “Then you must pay.” “He paid on boarding.” The captain spoke rapidly, handing a heavy pouch to the pirate which Hero recognized as the one he had paid for their transport. “Very good. Are you sure you have seen no others?” The pirate was much pleased on receiving the money. Hero watched him slip some of the coins out of the bag before turning the remainder over to his subordinate.

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He noticed Hero’s gaze and pointed to Brucania. Two of his crew grabbed him. Hero stepped forward, wielding his knife. Brucania now shook his head, casting a glance below. Hero’s step froze, but his mouth didn’t. “What’s your purpose with him?” “Whatever I please. While you change your mind concerning my offer, I will accept your replacement.” The pirate patted Brucania’s head mockingly. “You’ll see me again.” Hero promised his intent clear. “I know I will. If you come to kill, he loses his head.” Without another word, the hateful face descended over the side. Brucania followed slower because of his wound, despite being pushed by the others. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.” The captain patted Hero on the shoulder and walked to his crew at the front of the ship. “Me too.” Hero drove his knife into the woodwork in frustration. He went below and found Renea and Ilsia sleeping side by side. “That’s good.” Hero muttered to himself, “We have a long voyage ahead.”

a “The innkeeper said we are close. I am going to ride ahead.” Hero kicked his horse into a gallop which soon left his brother and the cart behind. The road turned north for an hour and was soon running parallel to the blue waves of the Tyrrhenian Sea. A small group of houses came into sight in a clearing ahead. Hero saw a house separate from the others overshadowed by a large oak tree. Walking to the entrance, he knocked loudly and waited.

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The door cracked open before being thrown open, “Hero?” Vashalea greeted with a smile worthy of her character. “Leptis will be so pleased! Wait here, let me get him.” Vashalea ran from the door, leaving it open for Hero to enter. A bemused Leptis followed his sister, clearly still in the dark as to his visitor. A grin crossed his face on seeing Hero, “My friend. You are most welcome here.” He clasped Hero’s arm and hugged him graciously. “Your journey home was without event I hope.” Hero accepted wine and a seat across from Leptis which Vashalea eagerly offered. “Thanks to your gold we are alive. We had a scare or two, but no lives were lost.” Leptis leaned forward, sensing something was off. “Are you in trouble?” Hero sighed, “Forgive me for bringing my dangers to your steps.” Leptis held up his hand, “You could have a legion of troubles chasing you and I would refuse your apology. Please, consider my home yours.” “I don’t have much time, so I must speak quickly. I am followed by three others who need a place of safety; for a time at least.” Hero’s body relaxed for the first time in weeks. “There is only one question; are they hungry?” Leptis smiled as Vashalea disappeared again to have slaves prepare the rooms. Pattering feet and whispering voices scurried on receiving the news from their mistress. Hero gave a grim smile, “That eases my mind. I thank you.” Leptis rose, grasping Hero’s arm again, “You are the only man I would be happy to give everything for, knowing my life was well spent.”

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Hero’s smile faded as he remembered a Senator who had trusted him with his daughters’ life. Leptis saw the change and continued talking, “Do they follow you shortly?” “I believe that is them now.” Hero answered, hearing the annoying creaking of the wagon wheel. “I will get Vashalea while you help them.” Leptis walked from the room. Hero opened the door as David was preparing to knock. “Ahh, that’s good. It would have been awkward if this was the wrong house.” David gave a weak smile at the thought. Hero helped Renea and then Ilsia gain their feet as Leptis and Vashalea joined them. “Welcome. I am Leptis Horeno and this is my sister Vashalea. Let me show your rooms.” Leptis walked back into the house followed by the others.

a “I am so sorry.” Vashalea placed her arm over Renea’s shoulder in an affectionate embrace which was awkwardly returned. “I hope this food makes up for part of your journey here.” Leptis smiled before turning serious. “Do you know who sent them?” “I don’t; which is why I must leave in the morning. All I can offer for money are these.” Hero threw the pouches of silver he had retrieved from Melsia’s murders. No one watched the bags land at Leptis’ feet. All eyes were on Hero’s recently shaved, though still haggard face. Renea was searching for an answer while Leptis

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expressed extreme surprise. David alone retained equanimity, not understanding the language. “Hero, you cannot leave us now.” Vashalea protested, “You only just joined us.” Renea’s gaze traveled from Hero to Vashalea. “I’m ashamed to say, I know not how you know Hero.” Hero understood her comment and spoke quickly before Vashalea could begin the story that was on her lips, “It is a long story. It would be better told tomorrow.” Vashalea looked as though she would continue, but her brother saw Hero’s discomfort. “You have had a long journey. Tomorrow is time enough for the tale.” Leptis held Hero back as the others departed for their rooms. “What can I do to assist?” Hero rubbed his eyes distractedly, “I would ask that your sister look after Renea. She is strong, but has been through a lot. Leptis, she is my betrothed.” Hero gave a meaningful look. Leptis’ eyes brimmed with mirth. “You once told me you were not interested in my sister. Now I understand.” His face sobered, “I will convey that to Vashalea so she is more discreet concerning you. She is very grateful, for what you did... and can sometimes be effusive in her gratitude.” Leptis offered as an explanation. “Thank you.” Hero began counting out the silver. “Much has landed on your shoulders.” Leptis picked up a small stack and began feeling the edges. Hero shook his head, “My actions have been repaid on others. That is what hurts.” He nodded at the stack, “That is for you.”

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“I cannot accept this silver. You will need it on your journey.” Leptis quickly placed the coins back on the table. Hero leaned over the bright coins, counting them in his mind. “Thank you.” Hero mumbled, staring more intently. “What is it?” Leptis asked. Hero spread them over the surface until they lay flat. “All these coins are the same.” He grabbed the third pouch and poured the contents out, “All three men…” Hero picked a coin and studied the image. “Pirates would have paid in mixed currency.” “I don’t recognize the image, but the silver is solid.” He tapped it against the wood. “These are perfect circles, and smooth.” Leptis felt the edge. “Very good craftsmanship. Probably done here in Sicily, or possibly Greece, though I doubt the latter based on the porpoise.” “You know all about it.” Hero collected the coins into one pouch and placed it in his clothing. “I could use a set of clothing for the journey.” “I work in silver, so I would know. I’ll have the clothes waiting tomorrow morning.” Leptis led the way out of the room with the light, “Rest, you are safe here.” Leptis disappeared down the hall. David was sitting on Hero’s bed waiting for him when he entered. “When are we leaving?” “How did you know?” Hero kicked off his sandals. “Since we got on the boat you’ve been impatient. When I saw their reaction, I knew you had told them.” David paused, “Renea wasn’t ready for it. She’s near a breaking point.”

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Hero stopped pacing, “I know. But I must go.” Hero glanced at his brother, “I am not taking you.” He held his hands up as his brother rose in protest. “You are not thinking clearly. I need your head clear.” Hero emphasized. “Clear your head. Mourn Melsia, and then join me.” The protest died on David’s lips and he collapsed onto the bed. “Do you even register that she is dead? Or is she an acceptable loss to you?” Hero’s face flushed red. “Should I find comfort in punishing everyone around me, as you have? Do you also accuse Renea, who as her sister has the highest right to grief, of callousness? Consider such accusations before spewing your ignorance for all to hear. You can have this room tonight.” Hero picked up his roll and exited the room.

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CHAPTER 2 A Girl Named Jul i a Hero splashed some water on his face before walking off the boat into Ostia. A stable at the edge of town smelled as if it hadn’t been cleaned in weeks, but had cheap horses, one which Hero procured with all but the last of the blood coins. The ride to Rome was made in several hours. Upon entering, Hero heard a street crier running with the news, “The barbarians have crossed the Arno!” The crowds became noticeably quiet at the news but a low murmur of confusion, as to how the army had been able to pass Consul Scipio, could be heard. Hero skirted the side of the street until activity had picked up and he felt comfortable pushing his way through the crowd. He found Senator Cornelius’ house and made for the door as the Senator himself reached it. Cornelius’ expression was confused on seeing Hero before turning hopeful and grasping Hero’s hands, “I was told all died in the fire. Are my daughters alive?” Hero wiped at his brow as it had become customary for him to do. The Senators expression hardened, “You lived…to crawl back here?” “Renea is alive and safe.” The words came out of Hero’s mouth softly as he bowed his head. “And Melsia?” The old man’s hands trembled as Hero’s head remained bowed. He stumbled forward

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and wrapped his arm around Hero’s neck, beginning to sob. “My line yet lives. The gods be praised.” Hero grasped him tightly as the Senator’s legs gave way. Something obstructed Hero’s arm, which was unable to grip the old man so he lowered him to the ground. “No!” He cried on finding a knife stuck in the Senator’s back. A running man looked over his shoulder toward Hero who jumped to his feet and gave chase, shoving people aside in his pursuit. The chase was short as the man wasn’t the fastest of runners. Hero launched himself onto the man’s back, tackling him to the ground. Grabbing his hair, Hero beat the man’s forehead against the stone pavement before rolling him over. The stranger was unconscious and people were staring at Hero in revulsion. At a scream from the Senator’s direction, Hero knew that the murder had been discovered. He picked up the unconscious man and placed him over his shoulders, walking down several dark narrow side streets. “What’s your name?” Hero placed the man against a wall and slapped his face. The man’s head rolled as it returned to consciousness. His eyes focused on Hero’s legs, and then his face. “Hero…” A cunning smile crossed the man’s features as he took a deep breath. “Hero, your punishment has been delivered.” The man pulled a knife from under his clothing as Hero took a defensive step back. He turned the blade on himself and thrust, giving a moan as the blade penetrated. Hero dropped to his knees and pulled the blade free. The man was dead. Hero savagely thrust the blade in again and stood. “I need coin.” He mumbled, leaning against a rickety wood building. Shouted orders

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resounded between the buildings to Hero’s ears. They were hunting him. Hero removed the knife from the dead man’s chest and retreated away from the approaching soldiers. “The murderer is here! He is here!” A red shawl flailed on a woman’s arms as she pointed out Hero to the approaching soldiers. Hero sprinted, glancing over his shoulder. Several soldiers were giving chase, but gave up, being loaded with armor. Only one pursued, removing his armor as he ran. Hero knew he wouldn’t be able to outrun him once the armor was off, if he couldn’t outpace him with it on. He desperately searched for something to his advantage. Clay water containers sat at the entrances to wooden homes with mold growing up the sides. Picking up two while running, he threw them on the ground as he rounded a corner, repeating the process with two more. As the soldier caught his foot on the sharp edges of the clay shards, Hero’s pace relaxed on hearing his yowl. Hero’s pursuer pressed on, however, careful to avoid the remaining fragments. “By the gods...” Hero thought to himself, breathing hard and catching a whiff of cooking food. An idea formed, of pouring hot soup on the ground and burning the man’s feet, distracting him for a second, but as he emerged from the dark alley into the sun of a crowded road, Hero skidded to halt and resumed a walking pace. He ducked down quickly between two houses and waited. The soldier rushed from the shadows and crashed into a cart, knocking the contents over, wildly looking for Hero.

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“Grab that man!” Hero shouted, running into the street from between the houses. “He is an escaped slave posing as a soldier of Rome!” The owner of the cart didn’t need another incentive to jump the man and an angry mob of men followed his example by descending on the soldier. While they rebuked the man, Hero slipped from the crowd. Slowly, he made his way to the Senator Cornelius’ house, entering discreetly. No cheerful faces greeted him, no busy feet scurried through the halls, only sobs and moans echoed throughout. Hero headed for the stable, and using a horse shovel, dug up the bags of money Hannibal had entrusted to him. “Hero?” A deep voice called from the entrance of the stable. Hero spun, holding the shovel in a defensive position. A lone man wearing the Senatorial toga watched as Hero lowered his weapon before coming closer. “Who brought you to Senator Cornelius?” The man asked abruptly. “Captain Meno…” Hero looked around suspiciously, “introduced me. Why?” “Needed to be sure. Come quickly. Soldiers are coming to put this house under protection.” The man snorted before walking from the building. Hero patted the soil over the remaining coins and followed the man into the streets. “Who are you? How did you know where to find me?” “Wait. We need privacy.” The man’s pace increased. Hero shook his head but didn’t ask any more questions until they entered the man’s house. “I am Senator One.” The man began after closing and locking the door to the room.

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Hero stared at the old man, “I see. Who was number Two? Senator Cornelius?” The man was clearly taken aback, “No. He was number One. How did you know?” “Why do you want to know?” Hero felt a chill go up his spine. He rose from the seat he’d accepted and walked around the room as the old man attempted to hinder his steps. “Why is this man eavesdropping on our conversation?” Hero pointed at another supposed Senator who had been sitting quietly in a small alcove out of sight. Senator One was clearly flustered, “This… He...” the man took a deep breath, “This is Senator Five. Please sit down.” Hero took one last look around the room before resuming his seat. “I understand now why Cornelius held you in such high regard. He, Cornelius, brought us together in secret a few months ago, after you provided the information about Potitus. He told us about your betrothal to Renea. We grieve with you.” Senator One paused out of respect for the dead. “I thank you.” Hero understood that ‘One’ was subtly telling him he was a close friend of Cornelius. “We didn’t know how or when they were going to strike, until today. It seems they bribed Cornelius’ guard and were waiting for you.” Senator Five had a deep, sonorous voice that struck Hero as being practiced. “Though how they knew you were still alive but we didn’t…” The man’s voice trailed off. Hero closed his eyes, “Because we killed everyone sent.”

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The Senators exchanged glances at this information. “We?” One asked. “A slave accompanied me.” Hero lied. “Are you friends of Cornelius? Or enemies?” Hero pinned his gaze on Senator One. “After you provided the information against Senator Markus which led to his exile, his allies did the opposite of what we expected. They twisted the facts to portray the Senator as subverting the enemy instead of collaborating with them. Cornelius was convinced of your story and continued to search for evidence. That’s when his daughters were murdered.” Senator One paused a few moments. “Cornelius believed this plot is larger than declaring Sicily an independent nation, which would only have guaranteed them a large grain base. The only good to come of this is that Senator Markus is either missing or dead.” “So what are you doing now?” Hero asked the obvious question. The two men gave each other a long look before Five answered, “We will provide five witnesses that can swear you married Renea Heresha before her death. Cornelius has no surviving heirs, so his estate will pass onto his eldest daughter’s husband.” The man stopped, seeing Hero shake his head, and waited for the expected outburst. When none came, he continued, “There will be a problem once the claim is made that you assassinated your Father-in-law but we’ll have to deal with that later. This at least keeps his estate from being confiscated by the state.” A small sigh followed this statement. “What? I killed him?” Hero reached up to his forehead. “I killed the man who killed him!” Silence

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followed until Hero rose from his seat. “How did they find out about me?” Both Senator seemed unprepared for the question and ‘One’ shifted in his seat, “I told a few senators you had provided the information. Cornelius was furious with me, but made some good of the mistake. After the word was out, he proposed you receive the exiled Senator’s estate and the equate rank. Even Cornelius considered it a good move once done. If Senator Markus ever does return from exile, he will be unable to recover his lands, which are now yours.” “I don’t know you. I cannot trust you.” Hero headed for the door. “Where do you go?” Five’s deep voice questioned. “There are two sides to every coin.” Hero rubbed the single remaining blood coin in his clothing. “Can you make my claims in absentee?” Hero asked, picking up his sack and preparing to depart. Their silent nods were enough for Hero who walked out the door and disappeared into the streets. Even the white stone buildings appeared grey, and Hero wondered if it was only his perspective. He clenched his fists and felt something crinkle on the back of his hand. Dried blood flaked to the ground. “That was my father’s only this morning.” He thought to himself, scraping it off with his fingernails. He went a short distance, seated himself on some steps and used the knife he had retrieved from the murderer to clean under his nails. No matter how much he dug, he couldn’t get it all. The blade slipped from his grasp and clattered to the pavement. Hero didn’t immediately retrieve it, but stared at it absently, wondering if he could rewind time.

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He finally picked it up and noticed it felt different. The bottom of the handle had broken off, revealing a hollow handle. He retrieved the end and tried to place it over the hole, but it wouldn’t stick. He pushed his finger inside to clear it out and encountered something. His pinky slowly slid it free of the enclosure to reveal a tightly rolled document. Hero reverently held the documents in his open palms. He finally began to unroll the first, which was written in what looked like Latin. The second however, was clearly written in Punici, and its contents were disturbing to Hero. It was the bill of sale for a girl named Rimaelbaal with brown hair and a mole behind her ear. She was captured in Iberia as a fair prize of war; however, the cost is what surprised Hero. Her price was five staters -- this girl’s worth was more than most houses. Hero retraced his steps to the mysterious ‘One’s’ house and knocked loudly. A short wait passed before a slave allowed him back in. “Please wait here.” He commanded. Senator One came quickly, curious at Hero’s quick return. “Come through the back next time.” “Can you read this for me?” Hero handed him the second document. “You may use the girl for work or pleasure while she remains with you. However, she must live to be turned over at the first request or your life is forfeit.” ‘One’ checked the back for further writing before handing it back to Hero. “What is that about?” “I don’t know.” Hero answered truthfully. He tightly rolled the two again and returned them to the knife. “Thank you.” He left the Senator mystified. He felt for the girl, whoever she was, but there was nothing he

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could do without knowing more than she had brown hair and a mole. With the gold he had retrieved, a horse and dirty clothes were procured. As the sun was setting, Hero left Rome looking little more than a poor farmer returning home after a day at the market. He finally mounted and trotted in the direction of Ostia. A week was spent traveling south along the coast, looking for some sign of the pirate who had taken Brucania. Hero casually asked locals who he bought food from about visiting foreigners, to which he got many raised eyebrows, being a foreigner himself. On the third day, Hero sensed he was being followed, but couldn’t get a view of the person. It was four days before the stranger revealed himself and steps sounded behind. “Don’t run. My men surround you.” The voice was calm, in control. “Who do you call captain? Brenchin? Copiun? They are the leaders in this stretch of coast.” Hero closed his eyes in frustration. These weren’t pirates; these were men trying to catch pirates. “I serve no one. I search for my companion and slave. He was taken by Copiun while journeying to Sicily.” He allowed the probing hand to take the gold pouch from his side. “To buy him back? Risky, considering they could just take the money. This is no small amount.” His blade re-entered the scabbard. “My name is Ruso Rufus. One of my men thought you might be a courier between pirates.” “They sail the seas. Why risk traveling by land when they can meet on water?” Hero now faced Ruso, inspecting the stalwart man curiously. He looked to be roughly thirty years old and sported a bushy beard.

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“They don’t trust each other enough to put themselves in a vulnerable position like that.” “You mean one commandeers the other under the guise of friendship. How can they possibly be working together if that’s the case?” Hero accepted his gold back. “That’s what has made them such a threat recently. They’ve begun forming alliances like mini nations. It’s disturbing.” A short pause, “I hope you are successful.” Ruso bowed and walked away, joined by four others who followed. Hero watched them leave before continuing south. He hugged the shoreline, buying bread and supplies from the few houses he came across, moving slowly due to the lack of any trail. The echo of mallets sounded from a large stand of trees. Hero made for the noise, but was knocked from his horse with a log to the head. His head rang and faces appeared over him. “Another one.” Someone shouted. A bucket of water hit Hero full in the face, and he sputtered, jumping to his feet. He grabbed his throbbing head and groaned. His arms were pinned and he was propelled to the waterline where he was thrust into an empty skiff and rowed to one of two vessels lying next to each other. Four wood workers were toiling over the damaged form of an eagle on the vessel’s bow, repairing its beak. Hero wondered if it was to represent their disdain for the Roman eagle, or to honor it. The rest of the ship was crawling with activity as less skilled sailors carried and replaced beams all over the deck. All of the activity was accompanied by a constant pounding, which didn’t help his head.

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A man was barking orders when they brought Hero to him. “What?” He snapped, irritated at the interruption. “Who is this?” He stared at Hero. “You took my slave.” Hero pulled his arms free and crossed them. “I want…” Hero was interrupted, “Another one sir.” Ruso was thrust next to Hero. “He was following this guy.” Hero was indicated. “Take twenty and search for others. Kill any others. If there aren’t, stay out there and keep a perimeter.” The leader waved them away. “That will slow us down. Didn’t the Captain order us to make all speed unloading the valuables?” One of the men protested. “Copiun is asleep right now, but if you’d like I will wake him.” He gave a dark look and waved them away again before rushing to the front of the ship and yelling at some of the workers. “Following me, eh?” Hero gave Ruso a side glance. “You could have stayed hidden.” Ruso shrugged as they were pushed below decks. A guard paced in front of them for several hours until they were brought back on deck. All surface work on the deck was complete, though the eagle was still under the hammer. “So you want your slave back? I have a way for you to get him back.” A large man appeared behind them. “Take this knife, jump to that ship and kill the tall man over there; the one wearing a red tunic.” The Captain handed Hero a knife. “That is suicide; even if successful, I am dead.” Hero tried to give the knife back.

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“You don’t understand,” the Captain said and stepped to one side. Brucania was being held by two others with a knife pointed at his back. “While you may live if successful, he will die if you don’t. Those are my terms.” Hero’s grip tightened on the knife and he considered stabbing the man before him. Realizing that nothing beneficial would be gained in the Captain’s death, since he was surrounded by his crew, his grip relaxed. He ignored the frantic shaking of Brucania’s head and walked to the side of the vessel, mounted it and jumped the three foot distance between ships. The man in the red tunic was close, only a few feet away from where Hero landed. Horns sounded on shore, causing everyone on board to pause. The sounds were repeated frantically by many more horns. “Raise anchor!” The man in front of Hero shouted, “Get the slaves back on the oars! Push us into deeper water!” Hero glanced at the other ship toward Ruso, who wore a very satisfied grin. “These must be his men,” he thought. The organized chaos that had been on deck before was nothing to the stampeding feet that resulted from the orders. After a few seconds of observation, Hero noticed that beneath the disorder, there was some reasoning. The wood workers dumped the smallest scraps of wood into the water to make way for combat while the slaves appeared from below deck, where they had been at rest. The pirates themselves were now arming themselves and looking eagerly toward shore for an enemy.

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The ship next to them, carrying Brucania and Ruso, began sliding away, using their vessel for leverage. This pushed them in the opposite direction, toward shore. The Captain didn’t seem to appreciate this, “Copiun, you dirty rat! I won’t forget this!” “I hope you understand Tralenus.” Copiun gave a bow. Their own vessel began moving as the Roman troops appeared. The soldiers boarded skiffs along shore and rowed hard to catch them before they could reach the open sea. Captain Tralenus jumped to one of the oars and pulled, setting an example for his men who doubled up the oars. The effort paid off as their impetus increased and they surged away from the chasing soldiers. Hero expected Tralenus to be satisfied with their escape, but he was far from it. The man pulled his sword and swung it with all his strength at the mast, so that it remained embedded in the wood. “I will have someone’s head for this!” He shouted furiously. Everyone around ignored his outburst and continued pulling on the oars. “There are some prizes that are invaluable, and that girl was one of them!” He was pointing and shouting at shore as though his men debated the issue. He noticed Hero standing where he had boarded and stalked to him, “Who are you? I don’t know you.” “Copiun sent me to kill you.” Hero handed his naked blade to the Captain. “He took my slave, and offered his freedom for your life.” Tralenus calmed down considerably on hearing this, “You were going to give your own life? Interesting.” He inspected Hero closely for a moment. “Give chase to

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Copiun.” He shouted to the crew. “I’m going to dangle his head from the mast and use it for entertainment. Perhaps we will beat it with a stick while blindfolded.” This idea seemed to amuse the Captain, who gave a laugh, joined by his men. A sailor ran from below deck, “We have a leak sir. Someone has sabotaged us!” Tralenus grunted and followed the man below deck to inspect the damage. He returned moments later bellowing orders for the pirates to get below with planks, tools and clothing. His feet left water marks everywhere he stepped and a slight sucking sound accompanied his movements. “Make for Wench Island,” he shouted, “We’ll repair there.”

a The sun was low over the water when Hero put his feet on the firm ground of the island. The last several hours were crazy on board with everyone scrambling to keep the ship afloat until the holes could be fixed. Tralenus made it clear that though Hero’s information was appreciated, he wasn’t trusted. He was left on the island while the pirates continued their chase of Copiun. As he sailed away, the Captain laughed, “Be grateful, -- you have your life. Copiun will not be so lucky!” The island itself was not more than two thousand feet across. The only building in sight was surrounded by a stand of twenty or thirty trees and the only inhabitant a fisherman who occasionally provided information to Tralenus on the locals and general sentiment. He shared a small meal with Hero before they set off.

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The food revived Hero who hadn’t eaten in over a day and a half. When long shadows were cast and the pair set the small, though fast skiff into the water, he found some pleasure in the wind on his face. By nightfall, land had been gained and thanks expressed. His new friend gave him a small loaf before bidding him farewell, his job for Tralenus complete. Hero gazed at the desolate village as a chilly breeze rose off the water, prompting him to move toward one of the few buildings, which happened to be an inn. A rider galloped to the entrance, forcing Hero roughly aside. Hero’s ankle rolled on a stone and he collapsed. The man laughed and dismounted, nearly sagging to the ground in his drunken stupor. The innkeeper burst from the door and steadied the man. “I’ve got a drink to help you regain your feet.” The innkeeper announced from under the man’s arm. “Give me your best and I’ll sell you a slave cheap.” The young horseman’s voice faded as the door closed. “I just got a lot of them.” The muffled voice bragged. Hero was incensed at the innkeeper’s inattention, but the resentment quickly turned to a smile. He grabbed the reins of the abandoned horse and led it out of the torch light and into the trees. From his position in the trees, Hero heard an unsteady string of curses that told his thievery had been discovered. “Get me soldiers! The gods curse that thief!” The innkeepers more sedate voice replied, “What happened?” “Someone stole my horse! The gold... Those papers of ownership take forever to procure!” The man’s voice continued to rise, “By the gods where are the soldiers? They’re going to kill me.” The man rambled wildly.

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“Probably dead. The army was destroyed at Trebia.” The innkeeper answered. “Curses on their bodies then!” “Hold your drunken tongue, fool. Mars little cares for those who dishonor his fallen warriors.” The innkeeper hit the other man, who growled in answer to his condemnation. Hero strained his ears when Rome’s defeat was mentioned, but the innkeeper had left. After spending a few minutes running around the building like a fool, the drunk followed his host inside. As there were only three buildings in sight, Hero was quick in picking out the most promising. A long building centered in the clearing provided the space for many slaves. The light stone exterior was covered in a moss that told of a village on the brink of a commercial boom when trade ceased. Double arched doors stood half completed allowing a flow of merchandise by sea via muddy paving stones. Hero’s assumption was rewarded. A fresh wooden bar had been fitted over the door to prevent anyone inside from escape. The bar was wedged tightly between the stones and resisted his first attempts. Using a log as a cudgel, the grip broke, allowing him to lift it. Murmurs came from the dark interior as the door opened. “Come into the moonlight.” Hero stepped back as the murmurs ceased. “Come into the moonlight,” Hero repeated, this time in Punici. A raspy voice came from inside, “Only I speak Punici, the others speak varying dialects of Iberian.” Hero thanked the man before repeating his command yet again in their language. There was a shuffling of feet, as they understood his order. Roughly twenty

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five men lined up in front of the building under the moonlight. “Where do you hail from?” Their voices rose in unison, struggling to be heard. “All right, Iberia. Who is the Carthaginian?” Hero spoke Punici. “In here,” the raspy voice answered from the building. Hero pointed two of the men toward the raspy voice inside. They returned bearing the man, and laying him at Hero’s feet. The dim lighting revealed an old man with a ragged beard and haggard eyes. A slight motion near the door caught Hero’s eye and the Carthaginian followed his gaze. “Why would a slaver keep you?” Hero faced the man again, “You are almost dead from that gash on your forehead.” “Tanit smiles on me,” he said cryptically with a shrug. “I am no slaver,” Hero announced to the line. “There are no soldiers in this village. They are probably dead at Trebia. There is a vessel on the waterfront that is capable of returning you to Iberia. The man transporting you is inside that building which is stocked with food.” Hero sprinted for the door on seeing the motion again. “No!” The Carthaginian struggled to push himself up but collapsed in a heap. Hero clamped his hand on a girl’s shoulder. Her knees buckled and she landed on her knees. Grabbing her wrist, he dragged her to the wounded man’s side, continuing to address the others, “I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention my existence on being re-captured.

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The men surrounded Hero, heaping praise on him for his magnanimous act. A minute later they were gathered under the light at the front of the inn. Hero picked the Carthaginian up, “Tell her if she runs off, I kill you.” “If you kill him, I will kill myself,” she answered boldly. Her statement followed the sound of bedlam from within the inn. A smile played on Hero’s lips as the drunken slave owner yelled hoarsely. “They’ll do fine,” he mumbled to himself. “We need to hide,” Hero whispered. “You said there were no soldiers,” the girl made no attempt to lower her own voice. “I overheard a conversation that it wouldn’t be smart to trust. They…” Hero jerked his thumb toward the inn, “are twenty men with a purpose. We are three…” he looked between the two. “This is going to hurt,” Hero warned, placing his arm under the man. “What’s your name?” Hero asked to keep his mind off the pain. “Humalbaal,” the answer came through gritted teeth. Hero nodded his head in greeting and turned to the girl, “Run ahead and find shelter.” Hero pointed toward a crop of rocks silhouetted by the moonlight at the top of a hill. “I am taking Humalbaal behind those trees. Now go,” he urged as she hesitated. The girl’s little legs sprinted ahead and returned before they had reached their destination. “I think it’s a cave,” her shaking voice testified that she’d run the distance at her best speed, induced not a little by fear. Gritting his teeth, Hero carried the man to the top of the hill. “Where is it?” He asked as his arms trembled

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from dead weight. He followed the extended finger and crawled into a semi closed opening roughly the height of a man and two men deep. “Stay here,” he said and ran down the hill to lead the horse to their hiding spot. The saddle and bags were removed and the horse was allowed to graze at the bottom of the hill, opposite the village. A short trek rejoined Hero with his companions. The girl had positioned Humalbaal in a comfortable position, placing a thick pile of leaves under his head. Hero knelt and gingerly lifted Humalbaal’s tunic. “This isn’t good,” Hero said quietly. “I know,” Humalbaal’s own voice was low. “We can heal you,” the girl pronounced. “We live to fulfill Tanit’s will Rimaelbaal,” Humalbaal answered, squeezing her offered hand. Hero watched in silence, not sure what action to take. “There is a flask of water on the ground outside. Take it and fill it at the creek at the bottom of the hill.” Hero began cutting the inside of his tunic into foldable pieces. When Rimaelbaal had departed the man spoke, “We both know it’s useless.” “We both think it’s useless, and she needs something to keep her mind straight. She’s scared and you are keeping her grounded.” Hero ripped at the cloth, frustrated at the dull blade. Humalbaal relaxed, resigned. “I understand.” The girl returned with the water and Hero immediately set about cleaning the surface of the wound. Clouds crossed the moon, making it impossible to see. “Give him some so I can use the rest.”

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Rimaelbaal lifted the water to Humalbaal’s lips while Hero tore more of the tunic and waited for moonlight to return. When it did, several additional stab wounds were revealed. “Rub his arms,” Hero ordered, soaking the cloth and cleaning the dirt away. The strips were made and wrapped around his chest. Humalbaal gave a sigh as the pressure relieved some of the pain. “Thanks for your effort. The pain was becoming a nuisance.” At great expense, a smile crossed his features. “You may recover. I am more hopeful than I was,” Hero replied trying to sound optimistic. “Yes, that did help,” the man said, also making an effort to strengthen his voice. “I can now think of punishing those responsible.” “Sleep, your body needs rest.” Hero crossed behind Humalbaal and placed his head in his lap. “Both of you sleep. I’ll keep watch.” The endless day had exhausted Hero who fought to keep his eyes open. Movement in his lap awakened him and he leaned forward, he could see the whites of Humalbaal’s eyes, “Why wound you like this? It’s equivalent to killing merchandise.” “I was never the desired merchandise. I was left alive to protect the merchandise from the other slaves. I made the Captain angry though. On being sent ashore, the Captain gave me these to ‘remember’ him,” Humalbaal whispered. “Who is she?” Hero cast a glance in the girl’s direction. “You don’t know?” Humalbaal was incredulous, “Why help…” his throat gurgled with blood. Hero turned the head to one side so he could cough the blood out.

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“A lot of coin has changed hands for her,” Humalbaal continued. Humalbaal’s voice rose slightly after the cough and the girl woke at the sound. Humalbaal tried to say something to her, but his throat clogged again. Hero looked away again but the coughing didn’t stop, continuing for several minutes until everything became still. Hero rose from his seat and left the makeshift cave, not wishing to disturb her grieving, “I will retrieve the horse.” Darkness was rapidly retreating before the coming day leaving behind a canopy of mist which clung to the ground. Walking in the direction he thought it had gone the night before, he reached the field. The horse was still there, drinking from a small rivulet. Hero waited until it had finished before leading him to the cave. Rimaelbaal raised her head on Hero’s entrance. “Where will we bury him?” she said, her voice clear of emotion. “This must serve as his grave. We should not extend our time here.” Hero exited to find two seedy looking men coming over the crest of the hill with their horse. “What are you doing with my horse?” Hero asked the nearest. “We are going to sell him in town. A man there is willing to pay almost any price for a horse worthy of riding. If you let us take it peacefully, we will give you a small percentage of the sale. If you refuse, we will kill you and take it anyway.” The man holding the horse grinned, revealing a toothless mouth. Rimaelbaal exited from the hole and moved next to Hero.

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“Let’s kill him and take her too. I’ll do that without incentive,” the nearest reached for Rimaelbaal’s curly hair. Hero grabbed the hand and tugged him off balance, driving his knife through the chin to his brain. The other gave of grunt of surprise and drew his sword, still holding the horse. Hero shoved the dead man at him and spun toward the arm holding the horse, kicking the man in the shin. He followed the kick with a thunderous blow to the temple. The man crumpled to the ground, dead. Hero looked Rimaelbaal over with curiosity, having been too distracted with Humalbaal to pay much attention to the girl. He was surprised to find her much younger, than her composure indicated, being no more than thirteen years of age. Behind her left ear was a rather large mole. “Mount up, we need to leave.” Hero helped her onto the horse and mounted behind. The horse proved to be extremely lazy, and they moved slower and slower as time passed. Three days after their start, Hero walked into the burned out shell of Senator Cornelius’ house outside Puteoli. Digging through the pile of rubble and ash of the old garden, Hero retrieved the gold he had buried. Removing a handful of coins, Hero cast a single glance around the remains which now belonged to him. “How do you speak like a native of Carthage, but mingle among Romans without suspicion?” Rimaelbaal’s head swiveled constantly, absorbing the sights around her. “These are not Romans, but Etruscan allies whose dialects are quite different from Rome. I have lived

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here for the past several years, which helps. Until you learn it, you will be my slave to explain your language,” he said and handed her some bread. “We need to change your name. Do you like Drosila?” on getting a shake of the head, he continued, “Gaila? Herailia? Julia?” “Considering the choices, Julia is the only one I would consider. Plus you say it with such love. Do you know a Julia?” she craned her neck to see his face. “I didn’t change my tone at all. No I don’t know a Julia, nor do I love the name,” Hero snorted. “But I am sure you would make any name sound beautiful,” he patted her on the head, not noticing the blush that spread over her cheeks. “Your father would be pleased that you do not overly mourn him.” “Humalbaal was father’s most trusted slave. When they came in the night, he was the only one who noticed my abduction. He surrendered himself to stay with me. Then that man stabbed him…” her voice trailed off. “Tell me when you are tired and we can set up camp,” Hero offered, changing the subject. “I’m tired now, but I know you want to make progress. Let’s continue.” The newly named Julia leaned back. “What was the burned out house?” “Just a house...” Hero’s voice faded. “What is your name?” “Herotyrus Bemman. You would do well not to repeat that though, for its owner is long since dead,” Hero warned. “Bemman…Father has mentioned the name. He fought with a Bemman against the mercenary’s. Father said he became a traitor to Carthage,” the girl stated bluntly, not understanding her accusation.

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Hero frowned, “That was my father. He was no traitor. He was falsely accused.” Julia shrugged, losing interest in the conversation, “The sun will be down soon.” “We’ll continue, we’re nearly to Capua.” Hero pushed the horse a little faster, reaching the gates as the sun disappeared behind them. “Soldier, can the gates be opened? My daughter and I have traveled all day under the sun. I would love to provide her with a warm meal,” Hero called up to the wall in a pleading tone. “The gates are closed. There is no exception to the rule,” the guard said and continued his rounds on the wall. “I guess that’s our answer.” Hero steered the horse into a thicket of trees, “We’ll make a good fire tonight.” After eating, Hero stoked the fire, laying some more logs across it. He dug out a place for his hips, rolled himself in his cloak and laid his head on some leaves. Julia followed his example and soon everything was quiet. The flickering fire blurred and became the image of a larger fire with Melsia’s body engulfed in flames. Feeling Julia’s dark eyes watching him, his own opened. “Do you miss Carthage?” she asked tiredly. “Not really.” Hero stifled a yawn, “Why do you ask?” “I’ve never seen it. We were going to visit some day.”

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CHAPTER 3 Bor n to be Killed “Julia, wake up, the sun is up.” Hero tapped her with his foot. “Julia.” Julia jumped up, squinting. “What is your name?” Hero asked quickly. “Rimaelbaal, why?” she rubbed her eyes. “No, it’s Julia. You are my slave Julia -- don’t forget. Don’t say anything unless I motion to you because I don’t know your language while we’re in Capua.” Hero squatted, holding both her shoulders, “Do you understand? Say the wrong thing in front of the wrong person, and both our lives are forfeit.” Hero could see he had her full attention now. “Why go if it’s dangerous?” Julia brushed the dirt and leaves from her clothes. “It’s dangerous everywhere -- remember that. Keep your brain in front of your mouth.” Hero tapped her forehead before continuing his task of wiping the horse down with a cloth. “You could do with a good cleaning,” he whispered in the horse’s ear. “Father is always saying that,” Julia replied, facing the fire. “I was talking to the horse, but if you’d like to apply that to yourself, I won’t complain.” Hero packed the cloth away, “Let’s go. Remember what I said.” The ride was uneventful once past the guards, who though highly active, only gave a cursory examination

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to the Roman noble with his slave girl. They were soon knocking on the door of the house which now belonged to Hero. The door opened and Hentero stood on the threshold. “Hero?” He looked as if he would embrace Hero but held himself back. Hero stepped forward and grasped the old man, “It’s good to see your welcoming face Hentero. All is well?” Hentero grabbed Hero’s arm and pulled him into the house, paused on seeing Julia. “Who is this?” He didn’t wait, and pulled her in as well. “I recently acquired her,” Hero explained. “Our master’s will was retrieved from the virgins of Vestal and we were notified that you were the new master. What of Mistress Renea?” Hentero cast his accusing eye on Hero. “She is not that sort of slave; you should know that.” Hero was cut off by a knock at the door. “Hide in the master’s room; hurry!” Hentero pushed them from the entrance and opened the door. Hero hustled Julia to Cornelius’ old room where Hentero joined them several minutes later. “Soldiers visit frequently to see if you have arrived. I must know Hero, were you involved in our master’s death?” Hentero glanced between Hero and Julia. “I had no hand in his death, but it was because of me he was murdered. I don’t have sufficient proof yet, else I would show you, but I will find it.” Hero placed his hand on Hentero’s shoulder. “Based on what you have said, it would be best if the others didn’t know I’ve returned. Hentero nodded, satisfied that this was the truth. “She is one of the most disgusting looking creatures

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I have seen in many years,” he blurted out, surveying Julia. “No, she’s quite beautiful, I think. She is very dirty though. She needs to wash without everyone knowing.” “Cesica can be trusted. I will get her immediately.” Hentero ran from room, though Hero was pretty sure smell was the real reason. “Julia, a lady is going to wash you up. Remember what I said this morning.” “You are coming too?” a worried expression crossed her face; “I won’t go without…” her sentence was cut off with the entrance of Cesica. “Hero, I am so glad you have arrived to set the record straight.” She gave a slight shriek on seeing Julia appear from behind Hero, “The gods have mercy on us, is that alive?” “She is the one I told you of.” Hentero answered smugly, as though his statement to her was now justified. Cesica bustled Julia from the room while calling down imprecations on the mud. “Would you like to wash as well,” Hentero hesitated before adding, “master?” Hero considered having him drop the title, but stopped himself, realizing the break in tradition would cause countless problems. “I would, but I need you to tell me what these letters say.” Hero handed the parchments he had taken from the stolen horse. Hentero read through the first, cleared his throat and began, “It’s a bill of sale for twenty seven slaves to the person of Dacien Pervilus. It states Dacien should give,” he paused, “five staters to the bearer who safely

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transfers a slave girl, Rimbool,” Hentero struggled with the pronunciation of the girl’s name, “to a known contact in Rome. That is enough to purchase a house in Rome, Hero.” “A scroll from the knife of Dacien Pervilus confirms that. Dacien is the man who murdered Cornelius,” he said thoughtfully. “I think I’ll eat.” “Would you like for me to prepare a meal?” Hentero began to follow, but smiled on seeing Hero’s indignant smirk. “I’ll have something in the kitchen,” he assured Hentero. They were discussing the state of Hannibal’s march when Cesica appeared, pulling a reluctant Julia behind her. “I consider this an improvement,” Cesica announced, running her hands over Julia’s hair. “I completely whole-heartedly agree,” Hentero nodded his head emphatically. The light blue stola with a matching belt turned the muddy girl into a lovely young lady. With the dust removed, her wet jet black ringlets cascaded in thick waves down her back, framing a beautiful woman’s face in miniature. Julia, basking in the attention, and was about to speak, but seeing Hero’s warning glance dropped her head before glancing at him shyly with a blush at seeing his approving smile. “I wonder if she’s hungry...” Hero winked at Hentero. Cesica jumped at the opportunity and began scurrying around the kitchen. “We both need clothes gathered. We leave tomorrow before sunrise,” Hero instructed. Hentero began to ask where, but bit his tongue and exited the room.

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After a quick meal, Hero headed for his own bath. In the hot water, his muscles relaxed and he lowered his head beneath the surface, welcoming the sense of peace. His air expired and he tried to rise for a breath, but hands held his head below the surface. Hero went for his knife and released a large air bubble of frustration as he remembered his state of dress, or rather undress. He got his legs beneath himself and surged, breaking the surface for a breath. His assailant wasn’t extremely powerful, but he was nimble. With a savage kick to the back of the knee, Hero plunged back under. A consideration crossed Hero’s mind that if dead, no one else would be hurt because of him. It didn’t matter either way; it seemed he had no choice in the matter. His thoughts were confused and the light faded. Pressure released, but Hero was too far gone to take advantage of it. His body was dragged from the water and he gasped for air. “Hero?” Hentero muttered nervously. “What?” Hero croaked, weakly though he couldn’t open his eyes. “By Zeus’ strength you were born to be killed,” Hentero breathed, relieved to get a response. “I didn’t know you were Greek,” Hero said as he gazed up at Hentero through a slit. “What happened?” The words were raspy. “I came to ask you how long you intended to be gone and he ran. I gave chase, but he had young legs.” He gripped Hero under the arms and helped him stand. As Hero’s foot slipped on the smooth stone, Hentero held tight. “Steady,” he murmured. Hero accepted the one piece garment from Hentero and pulled it over his shoulders. “I’m going to rest.

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Thank you Hentero.” Retreating to the master’s room, he checked for his knife and dropped into the mattress, exhausted. Morning came early and Hero slowly opened his eyes noticing Julia at the foot of his mattress, on a small mattress, rolled in a ball. He hadn’t heard a thing when she entered in the night. Hero shook her awake and they prepared for their journey. Hentero had done his job well and everything was arranged and waiting. As the sun rose, they were riding away from Capua’s city walls. They reached Rome after three days of brisk riding. Hero held Julia’s horse when the walls were within sight. Hero wrapped her wrists snug, though not tight enough to hurt. “Try to avoid moving your hands so the binding doesn’t come off.” Two guards stopped Hero’s horse at the gate, “Your purpose here?” The larger asked roughly. “To sell this slave before leaving for Ostia.” Hero prodded Julia like a sack of grain. “Where is she from?” the other guard spoke. “Carthage,” Hero replied bluntly. The two soldiers exchanged a glance, “If you give her to us. We’ll teach her to respect Roman soldiers.” A chuckle followed. Hero prodded his horse closer, forcing the man holding the reigns to step back. “She remains unspoiled unless you wish to pay five staters for her company. If so, tell me now.” Both soldiers stepped back on hearing the sum. “We’re just doing our part. Spies crawl over the countryside, unchecked,” the large one excused.

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Hero grunted and entered the gate into Rome, proceeding directly to Senator Cornelius’ house. Rimdea opened the door, and blinked twice on seeing Hero, “I never expected to see you again.” Hero pulled Julia behind him, “Why wouldn’t you expect me?” “It’s said you killed our Master,” he said with remorse. “But then the virgins of Vestal brought forth his will and he named you his son.” Rimdea closed the door hurriedly and led them into the house past Renea’s garden in the courtyard. Julia stopped, “This is beautiful.” She moved through the flowers and smelled each one individually. “Who takes care of all these?” “She’s Punici? You brought her to Rome? After Trebia?” Rimdea gripped Hero’s arm. “I wouldn’t call the sentiment in Rome panic, but I would classify it as desperation. Three times now Hannibal has destroyed our armies. It’s not safe for her here.” “I heard of the defeat. What else can I do, leave her? Speaking of which, she needs some clothing. Something more discreet than what Cesica gave her.” Hero said and left Julia in the garden. “Some of Melsia’s old things will serve, though they might be a little large,” Rimdea offered, leading him to her old room. Hero paused at the door, imagining Melsia there. He finally entered and began going through her clothes until he found a brown tunic and stola smaller than the others, “This will work, I think.” He remembered seeing Melsia wear it several times in the short period they had stayed in Rome.

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Julia arrived from the garden and accepted the offered clothing. “Father said brown matched my eyes perfectly.” Julia held the dress in front of her. Hero grunted, looking for something he could wear, “You have brown eyes?” Julia pouted a moment, “I’ve been told my eyes are beautiful.” Hero smiled, “Did he ever tell you that you are vain? Come on beautiful brown eyed, black haired princess, get changed. Then we can eat.” “Oh, so you noticed my hair?” she spoke from the next room. “Once the mud was gone…” Hero’s words died as Julia re-entered the room. The similarity to Melsia was striking, down to the dimples when she smiled. Julia’s energetic voice filled the room with vibrancy while he helped her pull the loose fabric tight. “Let’s eat,” he said, his voice strained. Rimdea busily ordered the cook to reheat the afternoon meal, “It will be a few minutes. Here is some heated wine.” He handed a second cup to Julia. “The resemblance is uncanny, though the outfit helps. She’s younger too.” Julia sensed she was being talked about, not that it was difficult with Rimdea staring her down. She looked to Hero, but his thoughts were elsewhere. “What happened at Trebia?” Hero asked, taking a small sip. “Twenty thousand Romans died.” Rimdea stopped as if that alone answered the question. “The gods have mercy. How?” Hero exclaimed. “The gods will be done.” Rimdea raised his mug in a reverent salute, “Now you can understand the city’s mood. There is nothing between Hannibal and Rome.

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Four legions slaughtered, just like that. Consul Sempronius is in Rome now to hold Consular elections.” “What were Hannibal’s losses? Is there a chance he could still be destroyed?” Hero leaned closer. Rimdea shrugged, “How would I know? The food’s done.” He left the room for a moment to return with two steaming bowls of soup. Julia jumped to help and removed one of the bowls from his hand. “You’re welcome,” Rimdea said a little indignantly as he handed the other to Hero. “She doesn’t understand you, and she knows you don’t understand her. Why waste words?” Hero accepted his own bowl with a grateful nod. “She still could have said something. I did get her food,” Rimdea looked as if he was about to start lecturing her. Hero rolled his eyes, “Rimdea thinks you should thank him.” “Am I allowed to speak?” Julia blew the steam from the soup. “Yes, you already spoke when we arrived.” Hero replied and followed her example by blowing on his soup. “I thank you for all the effort you put into making this meal. Your company has been most pleasant as well, and I will be sorrowful when deprived of it. Perhaps someday I can repay the debt I now owe you,” she said in her most solemn voice as she bowed. Hero covered his laugh with a cough, thumping his chest. Rimdea’s gazed from Julia’s impish smile to Hero’s coughing antics. “My time will come. She will learn that I am not laughed at with impunity.”

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Hero snorted, nearly spilling the contents of his bowl at Rimdea’s declaration. Drinking the remaining contents in a gulp, he wiped his mouth, and rose abruptly, “The bed calls me. We leave after the elections tomorrow.” “I’ll bet its calling,” Rimdea mumbled. Hero took hold of an unlit oil lamp and bid Rimdea a good rest as Julia jumped up to follow. For Hero, it was an uncomfortable feeling to be using the Senator’s old room, but he knew it would be considered odd if he didn’t. Rounding the corner by the flickering light, Hero stopped short, nearly colliding with an object hanging in the threshold. Julia poked her head around, after bumping into his suddenly still form and yelped, but quickly calmed herself. A knife hung suspended by a string in the doorway with droplets of blood splattering to the ground. Rimdea came at a run, “What happened?” Hero yanked the knife from the string, “This!” He handed it to Rimdea. Rimdea’s face went white and he quickly handed the knife back, “Someone has made a sacrifice to curse you. You shall be forever haunted by the sacrifices spirit…” Rimdea took a step back as if expecting a lightning bolt to fall from the sky and as if on cue, a clap of thunder shook the ground. Rimdea jumped in the air. “The storm is here. I felt it coming as we rode in.” A white object on the floor caught Hero’s eye where it had fallen, having been dislodged by the removal of the knife. He couldn’t understand the scrawled figures, so he handed it to Rimdea, “What does it say?” The parchment shook in Rimdea’s hands. “I need more light.” He stepped back several feet to catch the last of the evening light, “Sacrifice Rimaelbaal or more death will follow you.”

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Hero accepted the offered note, and crumpled it, gripping the bloody knife tighter. “They must prove their resolve, for they have steeled mine.” Hero gave Julia’s shoulder a squeeze and propelled her into the room. She didn’t understand what was being said, but she understood his body language. “Rimdea, I need a sword,” he ordered. “You sleep here,” Hero pointed to one of the couches, “I’ll take this one.” Rimdea returned with a sword which he handed over gravely, “I will have the other slaves sleep armed as well.” Hero nodded his thanks and stretched himself on the couch in his day clothing, extinguishing the lamp after getting comfortable. “Do you expect someone to attack?” Julia’s voice came from the darkness. “Why do you ask that?” Hero was relaxed, but kept his eyes fixed on the door. “Because you hugged me, and are now sleeping between me and the door.” Julia watched the back of Hero’s head for movement. “I don’t know. Try and sleep, we’ll need the rest.” Hero yawned, but couldn’t close his eyes. The night moved slowly as the adrenaline wore off. His eyes closed and the deep thrum of rain pounded a steady rhythm on the roof. A slight scraping sound aroused Hero and he jumped from the couch. “It’s me Hero,” Rimdea whispered. “Get some sleep while I will watch.” Rimdea slid down the door to a sitting position. Julia’s steady breathing and the rain lulled him back to sleep.

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A loud boom shocked Hero awake again. “Did you hear that?” Rimdea’s voice shook, in fear of the god’s wrath. The storm had increased in its violence and the wind made a constant howl. Hero reclined again and fell asleep. A gentle shake brought him to a sitting position with sword in hand. Julia stood before him with a bowl of warm meal. “You scowled the whole time.” She handed him the food, “I told Rimdea to get some sleep.” “You told him?” Hero leaned forward and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. The light was dim, and he still felt as though sand had been rubbed in his face, but it was past time to get up. “Well I pointed and danced around silently until he understood my meaning. He brought me the meal before going so I wouldn’t have to leave the room.” She walked to her couch and retrieved her own bowl. “You look…” Hero paused, not quite sure what had changed. “Beautiful?” She suggested, followed by an innocent smile. “You are a piece of work,” Hero said and shook his head sadly. “We’ve got a long day ahead,” he threw his bowl onto the couch and walked to the water bowl, plunging his head into the wash basin in the corner. Julia threw her own bowl, which bounced and skidded off the couch, shattering on the tiled floor. Hero snapped upright, flinging the water around the room and onto Julia. With her hand over her mouth, she blinked water from her eyes before letting out a nervous giggle.

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Hero grabbed a neatly folded piece of linen and dried his hair, “Let’s go.” As he was followed to the door by Julia, he stopped, “Well, pick up the bowl first. Don’t leave your food all over the floor.” Julia rushed and gathered the pieces inside Hero’s intact bowl, carefully placing it atop the couch before running to catch up. Hero glanced up and down the street outside the house, suspicious of everyone in sight. Nothing in particular caught his eye, leaving him nervous. He stepped out into a brisk wet breeze which swept up the street. Hidden beneath his clothing an extra knife and sword resided as well as his regular knife. Julia placed herself at his side, keeping pace with his every step, and stopping when he stopped. They were nearing the corner of the street when running steps alerted Hero. Pushing Julia against the wall, a young man, not more than fifteen collided with him. The kid pushed himself off and continued running down the street yelling at the top of his lungs, “Servilius Geminus and Gaius Flaminius have been elected consuls!” “That’s what we needed to know,” Hero said, pushing a visibly shaken Julia in front of him back to the house. An armed man across the street caught his attention with his forced inattentiveness. He pushed her to the door faster until they were just short of running. Hero threw the door open, closing and bolting it behind him. “What happened?” Julia began to remove her outer layers of clothing.

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“We’re leaving, follow me.” Hero led the way into the stable where a slave jumped to saddle two horses. Hero did his own, impatient to leave. “Get a good seat, we ride fast,” he ordered, throwing Julia into the saddle, “but, stay here for a moment.” He motioned to the slave who opened the gate. He charged the man he had spotted on the street corner, “Who sent you?!” Hero shouted, laying his blade against the man’s throat. The man raised his hand in signal but Hero saw the ambush too late. Another man came at a run. Hero raised his sword to strike. “Don’t strike Hero!” The running man yelled, reaching his arm as if to stop the blade. Hero’s arm was arrested, not by the yell, but by the lack of aggression from the man he was about to kill. The running man stopped next to Hero’s saddle breathless, “We are here to protect you. Our masters each sent one man to position around your house. There are five of us.” “You were here throughout the storm last night?” Hero asked, sheathing his sword. “Especially during the storm,” the man replied. “Our masters anticipated an attack.” “Why didn’t he say anything?” Hero pulled his horse around in preparation for departure. “He follows orders.” The man began to move back to his original position. Hero threw several coins to him, “Thank your men for their effort.” Waving over his head, he rode to Julia, “It shouldn’t be longer than three days hard riding.”

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CHAPTER 4 More Precious Than S i l v e r Julia shivered uncontrollably in her saddle. Hero eyed her miserable countenance with a little pity, being uncomfortable himself. “Give me your cloak,” he ordered, pulling next to her. He took the cloak and wrung the water to one side. “If only you’d woken before dawn to dry your clothes, you wouldn’t be in such a pitiable position.” Julia shot Hero a withering glance. She saw that he was joking however and the angry expression faded. “It was still raining then and it’s raining now but at least now it’s not dark. Why aren’t you worried about the Romans?” Hero pushed his horse faster, “They are either dead or in Rome regrouping.” Within several hours, the army came into sight stretched before them in the Po Valley. Soldiers materialized from the trees demanding their purpose in halting Punici. The skins they wore told of their Gaulish origin. Hero answered that it was secret business for Hannibal. They immediately allowed them to pass on hearing their leader’s name. “It’s nice hearing my own language again, even when it sounds like that,” Julia said, her spirits rising the closer they got to fire. Hero stopped both horses on the edge of camp, “Be no less on guard here than in Rome. There has been

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treachery here before.” He resumed until they were finally directed to a tent erected for Hannibal. The tent was empty, as Hero anticipated. He wondered if the man ever slept. Julia first moved closer to a fire, but when Hero didn’t join her, she was soon at his side again pulling grass out of the dirt. A native Gaul approached Hero and began mumbling incoherent sentences while prodding him with his stick. The man’s wild red hair was flying everywhere as he continued to prod Hero with increasingly violent whacks. Hero pushed away the vengeful stick, “What is wrong with you old man?” The man didn’t reply, but entered Hannibal’s tent. Hero looked around cautiously before following him, suspicious. The old man pulled his scalp, and to Hero’s horror it came off. He threw it to one side and Hero was left gaping at Hannibal. “You must be careful with these Gauls. Some are friendly, others not so much. You can see I take precautions.” “That was disgusting. Granted I never would have guessed it was you.” Hero retrieved the wig and felt the texture concluding it must have been made out of dog hair sewn together to make long strands. “There is quite a stir in Rome. The Senate fears your eminent march on Rome and has sent for its armies in Sicily to come north against you.” Julia had waited for several minutes outside, but not seeing Hero reappear, poked her head inside and followed with the rest of her body. “A Roman slave girl Hero? Not really what I need right now.” Hannibal raised one of his eyebrows, suspecting there was more to it.

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“I am not Roman. I am Rimaelbaal Malbar, a Carthaginian patriot.” She indignantly declared, and then suddenly she became shy before the legend she had heard so much about. Hannibal chuckled, “She’s feisty Hero. Where did you find her?” his smile died, “Rimaelbaal Malbar…” His glances shifted rapidly up and down her face, “Your father’s name… Nemalbaal Malbar?” “Nemalbaal Malbar,” Julia could only whisper the name. “What did she say?” Hannibal asked Hero. “Nemalbaal Malbar I think,” Hero answered. Hannibal began pacing, casting a quick look at Julia every time his rotation brought him about. “Where did you find her?” “Some pirates had taken her. A very large sum was promised for her safe delivery to Rome.” Hero paused, “Who is she?” Julia looked as if she was about to complain about being talked about like she wasn’t there, but Hannibal waved Hero’s question aside with his hand. The pacing continued for several tense moments. “Sir, there has been a small skirmish…” a couriers head poked through the flaps. Hannibal’s gaze nearly took the unfortunate man’s head off. He retreated out of sight. Hannibal squared off with Hero, “Go get some rest. I have someone you need to meet.” Hero bowed his head in acknowledgement as a soldier was summoned to lead them to a smaller tent. Another soldier appeared moments later bearing dry clothes for both of them along with two rolls for sleeping. “I can’t wear men’s clothes,” Julia protested, holding the clothing at arm’s length.

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Hero entered the tent first, returning later in his new apparel which he admitted felt more comfortable than the Roman equivalent. Julia looked sheepishly at her own pile before following his example and pushing into the tent. Hero laughed when she held the flap open to reveal the ample folds hanging from her small frame. She stuck out her tongue and immediately set about tightening everything. Hero stretched out and attempted to catch what dry sleep he could. Julia occupied herself by lying on her stomach and watching everyone as they passed. She got her own stares from the men, unaccustomed to the sight of a young girl in camp. When the messenger arrived, Julia had already wakened Hero by shaking his leg. Hero followed the man to Hannibal who was dressed in his armor. Several oil lamps were set out and lit in preparation for darkness, which was fast approaching. Hannibal signaled for silence followed a moment later by David’s entrance. The brothers stared at each other dumbly until Hero reached forward and grasped David in an embrace. “I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes.” Hannibal offered, “Don’t leave; I must speak with both of you.” He left them together. “Are the others still at Sicily?” Hero asked, “Are they well?” “Yes and they are well. Renea sends her love and the others send their greetings.” David gave Julia a questioning look, but Hero missed it. Hero gave an imperceptible frown, “You still aren’t smiling?” “When I kill a Roman, I smile. What else is there to smile at?” David laughed grimly, “You thought quiet

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would help. With your departure however, Vashalea seemed to disdain my very presence. So I returned, only to find that killing did what quiet didn’t.” David seemed as if he was waiting for an argument. After vainly waiting several seconds for a reply, he looked at Julia again, “Where is she from?” “Some pirates had her.” Hero shrugged, “I don’t know anything else.” “Hero saved me from slavery.” Julia asserted, tired of being talked about. “It sounds like you have a friend,” David said and studied her more carefully. Hannibal entered the tent again. “Are you well rested?” he asked Hero. “Better than I was,” Hero replied. “That’s good because you leave in the morning. You and David are to take fifteen men to Quart Hadast. Directly east of there you will join Nemalbaal Malbar and assist him.” Hannibal began to remove his armor. “We can make good time in such strength.” Hero nodded his head, sorting through the details in his mind. “You take Rimaelbaal with you.” Hannibal motioned in Julia’s direction. David protested, “But we could make much better time without her. She will slow us down considerably.” Hero merely closed his eyes. He liked Julia, but he agreed with his brothers reasoning. “Are we to reunite them?” “How long have you served under me?” Hannibal didn’t wait for an answer, “Nemalbaal has served my father, my brother-in-law and now me. He has given everything in service of my family. You and your men

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will assist him in his work when you arrive.” Hannibal gave Hero a long, meaningful look, “If I could spare you more men Hero, I would. As it is, you can have your pick at the very best.” David was about to protest again, but Hero interrupted, “It’s all right David. Begin selecting the men if we are to leave tomorrow. Julia, would you please step outside?” When the tent was empty, Hero spoke, “Can David lead the men alone?” “Your brother has shown himself to be courageous warrior. He has undertaken some of the most dangerous missions since rejoining me, which has made him the more successful because of their danger.” Hannibal paused, “But I don’t need reckless abandon. I need you to go.” Hannibal placed his hand on Hero’s shoulder. “He is as capable as me. The men will have the more respect for him because of his victories. As it is, the men won’t even know we are brothers since he has probably taken a new name.” Hero rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. “What is it you want Hero?” Hannibal asked, removing his sword in preparation for sleep. “Justice – revenge -- whatever you want to call it,” Hero answered cryptically. Hannibal tapped his chin, watching Hero closely, “In Rome?” “Yes.” “I need you to go Hero,” Hannibal repeated his original order, ending the conversation. Hero bowed his head low and retreated from the tent. Julia was on a log with her arms wrapped around her knees watching the final rays of sun flickering behind the tree. Hero removed his outer cloak and placed it over her.

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Julia was startled at the touch, but on seeing who it was, went back to her first occupation, oblivious to his taking a seat next to her. The last light had faded from the valley before she broke the silence, “You are staying behind?” “Yes,” Hero said absent mindedly. Silence fell between them again. “What does your father do?” Hero leaned forward, cupping his chin. “He’s in charge,” her voice changed ever so slightly. The change brought Hero out of his reverie and he looked over. Julia glanced away, but not before Hero noticed the tear running down her cheeks. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” she answered, letting out a cough as an excuse to raise her hand to her face. “He works a lot with the locals. But I am never allowed to go with him.” “What’s wrong?” Hero repeated. “I am fine.” She faced Hero without any sign of the elusive tears. “I suppose we should say our farewell if I am leaving early.” Hero scrunched his forehead, confused. A moment later he laughed, “You don’t think I am going with you? I’m afraid we’re stuck with each other for some time longer.” Silence followed this revelation as they both stared into the darkness, each with very different thoughts. Hers were a mixture of pleasure and gratitude to the man next to her while his were far away in Sicily.

a David stood stock still, his breath visible in the frosty morning air. The crunch of Hero’s foot on the icy grass was loud in the still sleeping camp. David held his hand

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up for silence, “There is someone following us,” he said quietly, his head swiveling around, “I felt it all night.” “I’ve felt it too, and I rode back even further than previously. There was no trail to be found but our own,” Hero kept his own voice low. “There hasn’t been anyone for the past week.” David moved, “Did you check at the rivulet we passed? We went through the deeper water for that reason.” “No sign at all. I even tried to count the hoof prints.” Hero tried to reassure his brother, “Though it wasn’t really possible.” “We might as well risk a fire then. That was a nasty frost last night.” David collected some logs he had placed under a covering the night before. “The horses will need a good rubdown.” Hero agreed while pulling a hard stick and some wood shavings from his stash. David beat the frost off of one of the logs which had been exposed. Several of the soldiers stirred at the sound. “I would have already had my sword drawn if I had heard that.” David said a little edgily at their lethargic response. Hero picked the driest log and used his knife to cut a deep V shape. Next he straddled the log, placed the wood shavings in the shaft and began to rub the harder stick up and down the V. After several minutes of increasing friction a tiny stream of smoke started spiraling upward. Within seconds, the shavings burst into a small flame. Hero nursed the flame, placing more shavings on it while David placed tiny twigs over the fire. It wasn’t long before there was a fire comprising three midsized logs. Julia rolled unconsciously on smelling the smoke but didn’t wake.

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David nodded in her direction, “So who is she really?” “I don’t know much more than you.” Hero shrugged, placing some water over the flames. Julia’s eyes opened as he did and she sat up hurriedly on seeing she was the last to awaken. “Right.” David murmured softly. He turned his back on Julia, annoyed. Hero heard the hasty remark but ignored it and arranged the legs of the makeshift tripod for a better grip in the dirt. Julia looked at Hero anxiously when David turned his back. Hero shook his head, indicating she’d done nothing wrong. A whizzing sound zoomed past Hero’s ear, and sank into the leg of a soldier behind him. It took a moment for everyone to register the object, but once they did they dropped to the ground. “Get your shields and mass near the fire!” Hero barked, following his own advice. Three more arrows followed, but all widely missed their mark and thudded into trees. “Take seven David. Wrap around the left. Julia, stay behind me.” Hero motioned with his sword. “I know what to do.” David replied testily, running for his shield and sword. Hero’s seven men hurried through the trees, crouched behind their shields, searching for the antagonist. A scream came from David’s direction. Hero halted the men in a semi circle, doubting the silence. They panted raggedly from the hasty retreat, but forced their breathing to steady in order to hear. “Is all well?” He shouted. “We just found the one. I don’t like this,” David’s voice was uneasy. “Come together.”

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His order was followed by a horn which rang out to their right, away from David. Battle cries rose around their position followed by another blow on the horn, this one much closer. The men looked to Hero for instruction. He pointed at the heavy underbrush surrounding them. They began to hack a clearing just large enough to fight in. Hero handed a knife to Julia, “Just in case,” he whispered, patting her on the head once and pointing behind a tree. Not that it mattered, but it suddenly made sense why he hadn’t found tracks following them. The natives had been moving parallel their march, not behind. The bushes parted and four half naked Gaul’s threw themselves at the handful of men. These were followed by four more, and then four more. After that Hero lost count. The situation was becoming dire as the soldiers fought to hold position against the onslaught. Ten of the natives had been killed, but there seemed to be just as many appearing out of the trees. Hero thrust quickly at the underside of an attacker, saving the soldier next to him. “Hero!” Julia screamed, running from behind the tree and stabbing a man in the leg. Hero spun and killed the man clutching his wound. The horn sounded again and the attack relented. Except for those killed while trying to escape into the underbrush, not an enemy was in sight. “Hero?” It was David’s voice. “We’re here,” Hero answered, exchanging grins with those around at their success. “I thought you’d had it that time. They were all over you guys. We couldn’t even find you in this un-

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dergrowth,” David said entering the trampled undergrowth. He whistled on seeing all the bodies. “It’s Julia who saved my life,” Hero glanced in her direction, but she wasn’t there. “Julia?” Hero rushed to tree, she was gone. He tore down the path leading away from the fight, ignoring the branches and brambles ripping at his face, skidding to a halt when he almost stepped off of a small cliff. In the clearing, fifteen feet below, two men were racing away. Hero looked for the method they had used to descend, but gave up and jumped. He hit and rolled, grunting as his ankle erupted in pain. Springing to his feet, he continued the chase, but he’d lost his agility. Even with their load, they were outpacing him. One of the men unexpectedly stumbled and sagged to the ground. The other spun and held Julia in front of him in a defensive position. David was surrounded by the others on the cliff behind, holding a recently used bow. Hero sprung within reach of the man on the ground and pointed his sword. “Release her, or he dies.” The man shouted something incoherent. “What?” Hero didn’t understand a word of the man’s very heavy accent. “He’ll kill anyone who approaches,” David repeated as he joined him. “Oh.” Satisfied that Hero understood his meaning, the crazed looking man slowly backed away. Julia wiggled her foot for Hero to see. Hero kept in pace with the man, “Three…two… one…now.” Julia kicked the man in the shin, jumping away when his grip relaxed.

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Hero lunged forward and pummeled the man’s nose as he swung at Julia. The man grabbed his nose with both hands. “Do your worst,” he said defiantly. “Kill him and let’s go,” David urged, pushing his way through the men. “Unless I am mistaken, the men don’t need a fire to warm up now.” The soldiers laughed. “When did the Gaul’s begin attacking their allies?” Hero grabbed the man’s hair. Several moments passed before the Gaul answered in broken Punici, “We spy your leader, Hannibal. Decided his abuse of our tribe be paid for. We take daughter and demand payment.” “We help you fight Rome and we should pay for your assistance?” David stepped closer and knelt before him. “Hannibal use we for war. He fool father, but no me,” as he finished he spat a mouthful of blood at their feet. “It’s a tribal conflict,” David said bitterly. “They almost killed us for a tribal conflict! Hannibal needs their food during the winter months and they become bitter.” His gaze shifted to Julia, “Hannibal’s daughter…” “Let’s tend our wounded and continue.” Hero limped back to the cliff, accompanied by Julia. As he glanced over his shoulder, he saw David remove his sword from the young chieftain’s chest. Two soldiers who remained behind stabbed the one with an arrow in his back. Julia tried to look, but Hero gently held her face forward with his hand, “There is nothing to see,” he said quietly. He grunted on spotting a gradual incline to one

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side of the cliff he hadn’t noticed in his hasty pursuit. They were soon kneeling beside the first of four soldiers with deep gashes in their legs and arms. Julia watched him cleaning one of the worst for a while before starting the same process with the others. David joined Hero several minutes later. “One of ours and eighteen of theirs were killed. How did they surprise us like that?” “They were parallel us in the forest, not behind us.” Hero poured water over his blade and wiped it down. David noticed Julia struggling to help a man lean against a tree. “Got the girl doing cleanup duty, eh?” Hero rose from his crouched position so that he was face to face with his brother, “No, she decided to help them herself.” He limped to Julia’s side and helped. “Go get some wine from my horse,” he instructed. She returned and handed him the skin. Hero raised it to the soldier’s lips. “I feel new life in me,” the man said and attempted to rise. Hero held him down, “We leave soon. Rest while you can,” he patted the man’s shoulder and went to his horse. “Ten men combat ready. The other four will need several days to recover,” Hero said to David who joined him there. “Why didn’t you tell me she is Hannibal’s daughter?” David asked as he leaned against a tree. “Why won’t you believe me when I say I know no more than you?” Hero took a long draught of wine and stashed the rest on his horse. “You take a random girl from pirates and travel over the whole Roman territory with her, for no reason?” David’s eyes scrunched together in confusion.

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“There was a time David, when you would have understood without asking. If one person had been around for Melsia, wouldn’t you have wanted the same?” He left his brother speechless and rejoined Julia.

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CHAPTER 5 A Cave Called Ho m e Darkness had settled over the riders by the time Hero brought them to a halt. “We’ll make camp here.” He rode into the first meadow they had seen all day and dismounted in the tall grass. Each man followed his example as they came off the trail. The four wounded had healed well over the past weeks. Not one had uttered a word of complaint throughout the journey, but Hero could see their exhaustion. Hannibal hadn’t lied when offering his very best. “Hero!” David called out from the middle of the field. Hero ran to his brother, “We aren’t alone.” He pointed to the remnants of a fire. Hero attempted to examine the ashes, but a cloud covered the moon making it difficult. “Last night at the latest. Even the grass is still trampled.” “It wasn’t a small group.” David began to circle around, “Any earlier and we would’ve hit them.” He held up the remains of a cooked rabbit. “We are safe for the night.” As Hero finished saying this one of the Numidian soldiers ran to him, bowed his head and began to speak. “There is a very large fire in the distance. You can see the light from the tree tops.” The black man pointed, but the night was too dark and Hero couldn’t see the direction.

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He contemplated this information a moment while the soldier in front of him chafed at the delay. “Tell everyone to mount.” The man ran off eagerly, relishing the idea of a fight. Within a minute, the whinnying of horses replaced the quiet of the night. Leather creaked and the scrape of metal could be heard. Hero rubbed his horse’s nose, “One more effort tonight.” He murmured softly. He helped Julia mount and then followed suit. Hero appointed the man with the best eyes to lead on the trail. They rode for half an hour until Julia whispered loudly from behind, “We’re almost home.” Hero didn’t answer; he didn’t need to. The smell of smoke was gaining strength and light from the flames penetrated the trees ahead. A scream came from the head of the column. Hero pushed his horse ahead to see the cause. Four bodies lay on the ground, pierced by Numidian spears. Hero nodded to the men and dismounted. They started to follow his example, but he motioned for them to stay put. Three burning buildings were a backdrop to a horrific scene. In front of the inferno, three men stood shouting over a fourth on his knees. “Father!” Julia whispered, spotting him on his knees. She slid from her horse and started running forward. Hero missed her arm, so he grabbed a handful of her hair. Her head snapped and she lay on her back staring at trees. Hero picked her up, but kept his hand over her mouth. The shouts hadn’t stopped, though individual words couldn’t be made out over the roar of the fire, but they were speaking fluent Punici. Nemalbaal’s answer wasn’t

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satisfactory, for one of them thrust Nemalbaal through. The other two began to scream at the third for his rash action. Nemalbaal’s head rolled to the side and the whites of his eyes nearly doubled in size on seeing his daughter in the flickering light. Hero held her back from running forward and instead motioned his soldiers to charge the murderers. The three felt the rumble before they saw the horsemen charging them. They sprinted for tree cover on the opposite side of the clearing but were far short of it when Numidian spears reached them. Hero faced Julia and shook her shoulders, “Stay here.” He sprinted to his horse and vaulted into the saddle. He kicked his horse and followed his brother, who was leading the charge forward. Soldiers burst from the surrounding tree line where they had been posted to kill fleeing survivors. Hero pointed his sword, “Don’t leave survivors to carry a message.” The Numidians howled and charged the enemy, wiping out half of them in seconds. Riding in a large circle, they chased down the survivors who, on seeing what happened to their companions, were racing to regain the trees. Numidian spears flew, killing the remainder with unerring accuracy. The men beat their swords against their shields in victory. Hero was oblivious to the noise; his eyes were on Julia who knelt at her father’s side. The men followed his gaze and quieted; each one sympathetic to the young girl’s loss. They had come to appreciate her cheery presence which was a relief from the daily warfare they had been engaged in over the past several years. The oldest of the Numidians picked his way through the dead and knelt before Nemalbaal’s body. The others

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followed his example and one by one they bowed in respect to the dead. David and Hero came last. Hero approached the men, who were now solemnly cleaning their blades. “We have avenged Nemalbaal’s death on those present, but there are others. Swear to yourselves that we will honor Nemalbaal’s memory by continuing his mission for Hannibal.” The fire of indignation in Hero’s eyes was reflected to the soldiers facing him. They each grabbed a piece of dirt, and after touching their heart and head, gave a solemn oath. Hero studied their faces before speaking, “You have made your oath. Now begin to dig a grave for Nemalbaal. The rest of you, search for a safe location where we can sleep.” David stepped closer to Hero when the men had set out to fulfill their tasks, “What do you fear Hero?” he asked quietly, “That was no idle oath you put them under.” “The enemy we defeated was no enemy but a friend.” Hero rubbed his forehead, “We are surrounded and alone…” “And you want to ensure yourself of their devotion.” David finished his sentence. “Father wished to be placed with my mother in death.” Julia quietly approached Hero from behind. “Where is your mother?” Hero had forgotten about her. “She rests there.” Julia pointed into the darkness. “Very well.” Hero answered while David commandeered two men from those searching for a sleeping location. The four of them lifted Nemalbaal’s body and followed Julia who carried a burning log for a torch.

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She stopped after a brief walk through a thicket of trees and indicated a dark spot in a hill. The four ducked into the low cave and shuffled into the darkness with their load. A crack echoed in the stillness and everyone stopped. “There is something on the ground.” The soldier on the right muttered. After they lowered the body to the ground, Julia entered with the torch. Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a scream as it became apparent what had made the noise. The soldier had stepped on the skeleton of Julia’s mother, snapping the ribs. Everyone froze and stared at each other in the flickering light. When Julia didn’t make another sound, they all filed past her for the exit. Hero spoke quietly on reaching the outdoors, “Search for more caves we could sleep in.” They left to follow his orders. Hero noticed that Julia hadn’t followed and stepped toward the cave but David grabbed his arm. “I doubt she wants you around while she mourns.” “She is staring at two corpses, alone like you said.” David released his hold with a sigh of resignation. Hero tentatively entered and found her immobile, the torch stuck in the ground. He laid his hand on her shoulder, “You are not alone.” She turned and opened her mouth, but words didn’t come. Hero stepped forward and embraced her. Julia rested against him but didn’t return the embrace. Her eyes never left the bodies on the ground. Several minutes passed before she spoke, “Father was sending me to Carthage to protect…” her voice faltered. “He was sending me for…” she couldn’t finish.

The gen eral and th e spy

“Let’s find somewhere to sleep for tonight.” Hero released her and took hold of the torch. “There’s another cave…” Clearing her throat, she continued, “Father used to go there all the time. It’s behind some vines.” Hero led the way back to where the men were preparing Nemalbaal’s grave. They had been zealous in their effort, for the hole was ten feet deep and ten feet square. One of the laborers approached Hero, “We didn’t want others to find his body.” “Good thinking, but he has another resting place with his wife however.” He continued quickly on seeing their expressions turn down, “We will bury the dead here.” The bodies of their enemies, seventy-three in number, were tossed into the grave and then covered. Their friends would be burned the next day. The moon was high when Hero gave the order, “Let’s sleep.” With the semblance of peace restored, the strain of the journey could be felt all the more. Grabbing a torch for himself from the burning wreckage, Hero brought up the tail of the group. Exclamations of wonder echoed from those ahead on entering. When Hero pushed in, he understood why. The entrance was only four feet tall and sloped down sharply, but the further down you went, the higher the ceiling grew. The torch’s flame caught the sparkling rocks in the cave’s ceiling, glimmering like captured stars. The path leveled as the room opened and the ceiling soared out of the torches range. Hero followed the wall, inspecting the cone shaped pillars hanging from the ceiling and growing from the

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floor. Oil lamps hung around the room with a vat of oil under each. Hero lit a few of them while David did the same on the opposite wall. The room was expansive, nearly eighty feet from side to side. Hero continued to move along his wall. The far end branched into two paths. Following the path right, Hero continued for a hundred feet until he came to a dead end. He considered a more detailed search, but his eyes demanded for sleep. He retraced his steps to the main room where there was already heavy breathing. A light circled the room, stopping occasionally. When Hero got closer, he saw that it was Julia looking for his face among those sleeping. Hero scooped out a hole in the sand to avoid grinding his hips. Julia did the same a few feet away and silence descended, barring several loud snorers. A tiny scraping many hours later woke Hero from a sound sleep. His eyes opened, though in the darkness they didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t reveal much. The noise recurred with the addition of labored breathing which someone was trying to control. The echo of rain resounded throughout the cave and Hero strained his ears. He was rewarded moments later with a scrape from deep within the cave. Rising, he moved toward the noise. It was farther than he had expected and he tripped on a couple pair of legs in his search. Both times the noise broke off when those disturbed grumbled at Hero, but it picked up again as the men resumed their slumber. The closer Hero got, the more distinct the sounds became. There was the heavy breathing, mixed with large movements of sand and the occasional scrape of metal on a solid object. The digger finished his task and rolled over and immediately gave a sigh indicating

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he intended to sleep in the cave. Hero retreated to his sleeping position intent on discovering the next morning what had been hidden with such care. The next morning Hero awoke and was surprised to note the ceilings unusual markings which decorated the cave. Long thin roots dangled seemingly through the rock next to enormous cone shaped pillars which plunged toward the ground where they were met by equally long cone shaped pillars reaching up. Sporadic water routes allowed light to filter to the ground in thin beams of light. The smell of food drifted on the morning air, eliminating all interest in the ceiling. He exited the cave, surprised to find Julia preparing soup in a large kettle. “Where did you get the kettle?” Hero asked, squinting in the bright light. “It was in the ashes. The vegetables are from my father’s garden. He had a garden for every season. His winter garden was normally small, but never this small. I don’t think he was able to work on it recently. It was mostly covered with weeds.” She gave a smile though her eyes remained sad. Hero placed his arm over her shoulders, “Are you all right?” She didn’t answer, but wiped something from her cheek. “I wanted him to meet you. He would have liked you. Now he’s gone.” She couldn’t stop the tears now, and let them flow freely. There was no hysterics, no outburst, only the silent tears as a reminder that she was alone. Hero hugged her, wishing there was more he could do. He knew there wasn’t, so he remained silent. Julia pulled back when the soup burbled. “I need to watch this.” She used a stick to stir the contents.

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David leaned against a tree watching the scene unfold with genuine surprise. He thought he’d understood her pain the night before, but now he questioned himself. “Where are the others?” Hero asked. “They are resting the horses in the creek to deal with any swelling after our ride.” David grabbed some logs to take into the cave for drying. Hero held him back, “Wait. I need your help. Grab a torch so we can explore the cave.” David removed a burning branch from Julia’s cooking flame and replaced it with a small wet one joining Hero at the entrance, “We don’t need this. Light comes through the ceiling, though you can’t spot the shafts on top. I checked.” “Keep your sword handy. I don’t think…we are alone.” Hero whispered, moving directly to the left hand branch he hadn’t explored the night before. Taking the flame from David, he tossed it into the darkness. It landed on something and began to spread. The flaming human shrieked and jumped at Hero and David. David drew his sword to strike, but Hero pushed it down. Grabbing the man, he dragged him to the floor and began throwing sand on the flames. David dropped as well and helped until smoke curled from the clothing and the fire was out. David retrieved his sword and held it on the man who had fainted. “Grab the torch!” Hero barked, stepping closer to the smoking man. When the light came closer, He could see a long gash running down the length of the man’s leg which in his panic had reopened. “I need water.” Hero began to tear strips from the man’s burned cloth. He looked back when he realized David hadn’t gone.

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“We should kill him.” David placed the blade tip on the man’s throat. “No!” Julia yelled, having run into the cave on hearing the shriek. The brothers both spun in alarm. David immediately lowered his sword. “I will get water. Don’t let this brute kill him Hero!” Julia glared at David before running off. David stepped back as if struck. As Hero examined the man, he could see that he had been bleeding for some time. Taking one of the cloths, he wiped around the extremity, in an attempt to see the extent of the wound. Hearing steps, he looked back to see David leaving the cave. Julia entered seconds later with the water and soaked several bandages for Hero before leaving to take care of the food. Hero poured half of the water over the wound and wiped it clean. He then laid the clean strips over the cut and tied them in place. Sheathing his sword, he grabbed the man firmly under his legs and chest and moved as quickly as possible for the exit. Gently, he placed him with his back against the tree near the fire. “Where is David?” Hero asked Julia. “Who?” She looked up from her study of the stranger. Hero bit his tongue at the slip up. “Nothing, take this.” He tied the man’s hands and gave his sword to Julia, “Just in case.” She accepted the blade tentatively, feeling its weight with interest. “Where is the creek?” Hero asked and followed Julia’s directions through the underbrush until the neighing of horses told him he was close. Every horse was in

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the water and the Numidians moved among them, vigorously rubbing them down. Every few seconds a splash of water would fly toward a rival horse-rubber followed by the laughter of the men. Hero watched in amusement before making his way forward. “I hope the horses appreciate your dedication.” The soldiers jumped for their arms. “Enjoy the water. After we eat, we need to start to construct a secure building. Julia has prepared a meal for you when you get out.” Hero noted the surprised look on their faces at this information. He waved and headed back for the fire. Within ten minutes they were all congregated around Julia, expressing their gratitude for her hard work. Julia blushed again and again at the compliments, clearly appreciating them. Hero watched her with a tinge of pride. She was coping with her father’s death with a maturity beyond her years. Hero sensed that his men would give much to have her forget her loss, as would he. David accepted his soup with what sounded like a growl from Julia and the meal was eaten eagerly by everyone. Not to be outdone by the girl’s work, they set out under David’s supervision to start construction of the new buildings. “How was it?” Julia asked slyly. Hero laughed, “Right, like you need any more compliments.” The wounded man groaned and his eyes fluttered open. Hero brought a wet cloth to the man’s lips, squeezing the contents. “Thank you,” he murmured, squinting at Hero with suspicion. His shaggy hair hung past his ears in long

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greasy strands. His beard continued the same haggard look, hanging well down his chest. “My name is Herotyrus Bemman. Who are you?” Hero soaked the cloth for him to drink. “Arabaal. Tanit repay your treachery,” his head lolled sluggishly. “Mercifully, I don’t have much time…” Hero’s brow furrowed, as he looked Arabaal over, only then noticing the pool of blood gathered under his legs. While bandaging the outer thigh, he had failed to notice another serious wound on the inner thigh. Arabaal noticed Julia over Hero’s shoulder and raised his finger, “Is she your daughter?” his head sagged to his chest. “Thank you Shemshale,” he muttered incoherently. Hero’s lips creased in concern, but didn’t answer the ramblings. Julia stepped closer, “They were helping return me to my father.” “Ahh, forgive me, your kindness I understand now.” Arabaal’s eyes turned toward Julia. “He talked always about his daughter’s beautiful black hair…” he sighed, “…and brown eyes.” Hero heard the sigh and knew its meaning, “Get wine, quick!” Arabaal grabbed Hero’s shoulder with surprising energy, “Demand to see the ring and don’t trust anyone. They are after the silver.” He squeezed tighter, “Watch for treachery!” Arabaal’s eyes became bright and he collapsed. The grip on Hero’s arm relaxed; he was dead. When Julia returned with the wine, he removed the seal and took a long draught. Arabaal’s hands bore no jewelry, and in particular, no rings. Hero rubbed

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his forehead and sprang to his feet, hurrying to the Nemalbaal’s grave where he paused at the entrance, not wishing to disturb the dead. He pushed into the dark until he felt the feet of Julia’s father. When he found the hands, he removed the only ring. Bringing the ring into the light, he ran his finger over the engraving, a sword stabbing a coiled snake. He slid it on and headed for the other cave. Moving through the dim light with a purpose, he reached the corner where Arabaal had been hiding and began to claw at the sand. Long minutes of intense digging revealed a cold and solid object. He eagerly felt for an edge and began scraping, discovering with frustration, it was nothing more than stone. Hero dropped the stone to one side and sat back, kicking dirt into the hole dug. The stone slipped down the side and clinked. The sound was familiar, though louder than the noise from the night before. His fingers pried stones loose and he removed several before his fingers encountered the coarseness of wood. In seconds, the loose sand yielded, surrendering its prize. Hero grabbed the chest and made his way back to the fire where Julia was staring at Arabaal’s corpse. “Come,” Hero dropped the chest, “this is what he was hiding.” He put his knife blade under the lid and pushed. The tension increased but the lid remained stubbornly attached. Spinning the chest around, he began carving at the wood surrounding the fastening. Several minutes later he removed his sword and placed it under the metal binding. It popped off and Hero grunted, doing the same to the second fastening before grabbing the lid and tossing it to the ground. Scrolls were stacked inside in an orderly fashion.

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“That is worth dying for?” Julia asked wryly, looking at Arabaal’s corpse. Hero pulled out the topmost scroll, “Yes they are. They list the quantities of silver mined and where it went.” Hero continued to read, “This will take weeks to sort through.” “Weeks? We are staying that long?” Julia voice expressed her surprise. “Until replacements arrive,” Hero answered distractedly. The next several hours passed quietly until the Numidians returned from their construction to find Hero still studying the scrolls. There was some consternation on finding a dead man in their camp, but on hearing the story they soon had Arabaal buried far in the trees. Hero put away the scroll as the sun set and noticed a very morose David moving around the fire to sit separated from the others. Hero joined David in watching several hummingbirds chase each other through the trees. “What’s wrong?” Hero asked directly. “Me I guess,” David stabbed the dirt with a stick. “I’ve been trying to figure out when I became the brute.” A small grin spread, “That was always you.” Hero could see his brother wasn’t joking and didn’t laugh. “You’re talking about what Julia said this morning?” “Yes…no,” David shook his head, “I don’t know.” He stabbed harder, “She was the first to say anything, that’s all.” David threw the stick, “Since Melsia…” he didn’t finish his sentence. “You’ve been angry,” Hero waited for an answer but didn’t get one. “Was it her death, or before that?” Hero rubbed his forehead.

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“I don’t know!” David burst out and lowered his voice, “I can’t remember when I changed. I laugh now when before I would have cringed.” “I think it was after you went to Carthage…” Hero folded his arms and leaned back. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the one to go.” “I am sorry for my accusations in Sicily. They were unfounded,” he extended his hand which was warmly accepted. Hero stood and helped David rise before embracing his brother, “You are more than forgiven. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.” “Hopefully avenge me.” David answered ruefully. “There is Melsia to avenge first.” Hero moved toward the fire. “Well, I wasn’t saying for you to plan for my death.” David remarked wryly. “It’ll be some time before Julia forgives me. Look at her glaring at me.” “I think she’s glaring at me because I’m with you -not that there’s much difference.” “She still doesn’t know we’re brothers?” David asked in a lowered voice. “No.” Hero looked to the sky and changed the subject, “We’re in for more rain tonight so we’ll need to bring the horses in. We can’t have them go sick or lame on us.” “We need to send half the men foraging tomorrow, for the horses and us. All the food was burned, we checked.” David added. “I can think of a lot of places I would rather be than here.” Hero gave a long sigh which said more than the words.

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CHAPTER 6 Th e Mountain of Si l v e r “Aren’t you sick of eating the same thing? You’ve eaten it for the past week!” Julia followed Hero out of the cave. “More like the last month,” Hero replied, “but I can’t do anything about it right now. We have limited ability to get food. We’ll have to deal with it. Why do you care anyway?” “Because I have to eat the same food!” She cried in exasperation. “If these numbers are right, we have more to worry about than food!” Hero turned and faced the thirteen year old girl. Julia refused to ask what he meant and instead entered into a staring match that lasted twenty seconds before she smiled. “Like what?” David entered the argument. “A lot of missing silver.” Hero answered. “A lot?” David’s brow rose. “It’s an enormous amount, which is why that guy buried the records.” Hero strode to the fire and warmed his hands. “I just hope we don’t get an army marching on us wanting their share.” “That much?” David followed and considered the new complication. “Let me get food Hero, I promise, I won’t go far.” Julia pleaded, refusing to change subject from what she considered to be a more pressing issue.

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“No.” Hero said firmly. “Romans wanted you for blackmail and they could have only found out about your existence from a Carthaginian. Which means, someone on our side wants you too.” A somber spirit descended as each wrestled with their own concerns. “More beans it is then.” Julia replied, putting on her saddest face and sulking to the pot over the fire. Hero allowed himself a little smile at the childish display. “If these Numidians pay half as much attention to the house as they did to the stable it’ll be an amazing place. They won’t though, now that their horses have a great place to sleep, who cares about us.” David waved farewell and headed for the build site. Hero went into the right branch of the cave to retrieve the chest he had been studying for the past month. He lifted the container but the lid fell and smashed his big toe. He dropped the chest and kicked the lid into the darkness in a fit of frustration where it hit with an echo. After nursing his toe, he dropped to his knees. Crawling, he groped until he bumped a stone wall where he picked up the lid and tapped the corner. The echo was unmistakable; the wall was hollow. Hero ran from the cave, stumbling over the chest in the process. The pain didn’t register this time or affect his speed. Neither David nor Julia was within calling so he ran to the build site. The sound of complete silence reached him as he neared the field and an uneasy feeling traveled up his spine. He slowed and peered through the leaves. David and the Numidians were sitting in the center of the field removing an arrow from one of their own, but their attacker, or attackers, were not visible. Hero inspected the tree line, but could see nothing out of the ordinary. A movement in the trees north of

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the house caught his eye, and looking closer he saw what looked to be an archer in the upper branches. Another individual appeared under him, for the archer took his eyes off his prey and glanced down. They were talking, Hero could see that, but he couldn’t hear. Hero scanned the remaining trees carefully, and spotted what seemed like two more strangers making four, and who knew how many more hiding. He crept silently around the edge of the field, constantly checking his back, until he was a few trees away from the archer. He wished he had a sling shot, betting his odds against an archer any day, but all he had was his knife and sword. The man was mumbling to himself, but Hero still couldn’t hear anything. Knowing what he needed to do, he lingered in the shadows, trying to come up with an alternative. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted for the tree and lunged. His fingers curled round the lowest branch with an iron grip. Using his legs for leverage, he walked up the tree, pulling himself quickly into a sitting position. The archer’s feet dangled twenty feet above and Hero kept his field of vision trained on him a single glance down and Hero would be done for. Doing his best to put the tree trunk between himself and the other archers, while not looking at the ground, he climbed slowly. As he maneuvered behind the man, who was now whistling quietly to himself, he steadied his breath, wrapping his hand around the tree and over the man’s mouth. With his other hand, he buried his knife into the man’s chest. He waited a few seconds before pulling his knife free, wiping it on the dead man’s clothing. Returning it to its sheath, he pulled the body to his side of the tree. Removing the man’s leather outer tunic, he placed it over his own and hung the man’s

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body over the leafy limb. Resuming the archer’s seat, Hero grasped the bow and arrows which were dangling from a branch and notched one. The other archers were oblivious to the change in companionship, but David was watching his progress closely. Their struggle for the wounded man in the field had ended badly and the Numidians sat dejectedly around the corpse. Hero motioned with his hand for David to alert the others to prepare for action. His eyes then swept into the forest, but the thick evergreens blocked the view of what could be an army or small band. He took a deep breath and pulled, aiming for the furthest archer. “Please don’t miss,” was his last thought before release. The arrow flew true and the body tumbled from its perch after a hideous scream, while hitting every branch on his way to the ground. Hero glanced to the field and wondered why the Numidians were all running south for the stables. His attention returned to the second archer who, missing the origin of the threat, was preparing to release an arrow into the group of fleeing hostages. Hero notched his bow and laughed loud, which drew the man’s attention. “What’s so funny Quintos?” he shouted, before realizing too late that it wasn’t Quintos. He tried to draw again, but Hero had already released, and his body crashed to join his companion in the dirt. David and the Numidians were now armed and streaming from the backside of the stables into the trees. Hero thought for a second that they were leaving him behind, but he dismissed that as ludicrous. Notching an arrow, he waited for an enemy to appear. His wait wasn’t long as a single horsemen galloped into the field, followed by fifteen or so foot soldiers.

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Hero was about to release when he recognized the leaderâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s white armor as that of the Sacred Band of Carthage. The coincidence of reinforcements showing up at their exact moment of need was too convenient. He released his arrow hoping he was right, and watched as it lodged into the manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s leg. They saw him and came for his tree at a run. Hero reached for another arrow, feeling only three in his quiver. He quickly shot a running soldier which successfully brought him to his knees. A second arrow was similarly placed and then he only had one. The first of the soldiers was boosted into the tree and began to climb. Hero drove the arrow in the manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s shoulder as he neared his limb. His bellow ripped through the depths of the forest, but he held on, jerking his arm as the arrow tore muscle and flesh. As two others approached, Hero kicked the wounded man in the chest, propelling him toward the climbers. The two sought to grasp the falling man but his weight drew them off balance and he fell, taking one of them with him. The last pulled his sword and continued to climb, as Hero readied his sword. When the man drew within striking distance, Hero drove the sword through his chest. The men below went crazy and shouted that Hero should descend and face them like a man instead of cowering in the branches like a woman. Two of them cupped their hands for a third who they launched nearly ten feet in the air. He was so busy swinging he forgot to grab for a limb until it was too late. Those underneath rushed to catch him, but missed and he landed awkwardly on a protruding root. Six more cupped their hands, preparing to launch simultaneously. Hero climbed quickly to evade their

The gen eral and th e spy

attack, not wanting to deal with three swords at once. As those being launched stepped into waiting hands, the Numidians crashed through the underbrush behind, killing six before they could regroup. The horseman from earlier returned to the field followed by four others who charged the Numidians. Four of the horses were killed quickly and their riders soon after. The leader in white however was skilled with his blade and mount, using both to keep them at bay while killing three of Hero’s men in the process. Hero crouched on a low branch and launched himself into the air to deliver a helmet crunching blow. He followed this with thrusts into any vulnerable spot, starting with the legs and arms and moving to the chest. The man collapsed from his saddle with blood oozing from over a dozen wounds. “Good timing,” Hero breathed, making his way to David. “There were some hidden...had to deal with them first,” David explained. “This makes two attacks, both from Carthage. Who can we trust?” David flipped the body of the man Hero had killed, “The Sacred Band? Does it run that deep?” “I don’t think so. Most of them spoke Latin and Greek. I think they were just disguised.” “This guy said his name was Plybius Rufeus and he wasn’t happy when he learned Nemalbaal wasn’t among us. He mentioned something about trading Rimaelbaal for the mine.” “I think I found an escape route out of the cave. If so, we can make the cave our permanent base. It’ll be safer.”

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“I’ll grab a torch.” David volunteered, going to the fire pit. “I’ll grab a log.” Hero muttered to himself, moving through the underbrush and selecting a suitably heavy log. He cleared the few branches with his sword and heaved it free of its anchorage from under a downed tree. Dragging it toward the cave entrance, he found his brother waiting. “You seem to have the log under control. I’ll hold the torch,” David generously offered. Hero grunted and pulled his cargo inside. David lifted the back and helped. “So…you are proposing we run at the hard stone wall with this log?” David asked skeptically, eyeing the wall and running his hand along its course surface. “Yeah. I’ll hold it…” Hero wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his forearm before lifting the log. “You run and push it.” Hero ordered. David laughed but did as Hero said and a pathetic thump followed. “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t try hard…” David began. “Oh come on David…” Hero interrupted angrily. “I wasn’t serious.” David assured his brother. “Do it together.” They both grabbed hold on each side and charged the wall which gave a resounding thump. Neither one spoke but backed up and repeated the process. After several attempts, they heard the grating sound of stone. “I need to rest,” Hero said, dropping to the ground. He resumed his position after a minute and they charged the wall three more time until they heard a very

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satisfying crack. As they prepared for another attack, it rumbled and collapsed. Sand shot into the air and the two coughed until the dust cleared. When they saw the single straight corridor, flanked on both sides by towering mountains of silver, they gasped. Hero grabbed the torch and cautiously stepped through the opening with David in tow. The room seemed larger than the cave they had come from yet the silver stretched out of sight. “What are you going to do with this?” David asked. “Hannibal needs to know he has enough silver to raise another army. You know where I am going.” Hero went out of the hole. “Hannibal.” David answered, following him with the torch. “No, Carthage. Nemalbaal scrawled in his parchments that he hadn’t gotten a confirmation of receipt from Carthage in over a year. Apparently, he decided to put aside some as a reserve until he could learn the truth about what was happening -- smart man. I’m leaving in the morning, though finding passage will be difficult in this season.” Hero extinguished the torch and threw it into the trees on exiting the cave. “Bribe a captain with silver, we have enough.” David snorted. “What about Rimalbaal? She won’t be happy you’re leaving.” Hero rubbed his forehead in thought. “Stop rubbing your forehead; you do that all the time.” David scolded. Hero dropped his hand, “I don’t know, it’s dangerous to stay, it’s dangerous to go.” “Putting it that way, answers your own question. It’s what she would prefer. Plus it will get her away from

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this place. She’s handled his death well…” a brief pause followed, “better than I did.” David shrugged his shoulders, “I’ll tell her while you prepare.”

a The crests of the waves burst into a mist as the vessel moved through the water. Julia didn’t smile at the sensation, she was still sick after two days at sea. A hail from Captain Crenton broke Hero’s meandering thoughts. He ran and joined him. “I knew this voyage was too dangerous -- pirates approach.” The captain pointed into the distance. Hero squinted but couldn’t see the supposed enemy, “Where?” “There!” “I can’t see them but I’ll take your word for it. Can you outrun them?” Hero stared into the watery horizon. The captain stared at him incredulously, “The last captain who ran was burned alive with the rest of his crew.” “Continue to run for now. You can claim you didn’t see them if they catch you. That will allow us to judge if they are faster than you.” Hero paused before adding, “I will double your pay if you outrun them.” Crenton’s mouth sagged, “You have already paid four times more than is reasonable.” “Don’t attribute that to generosity. You wouldn’t sail for less, remember? The winter storms and pirates were hard for you to overcome.” Hero nodded his head remembering the details. Captain Crenton stood straighter, “Increase the sail.” He bellowed to the crew. “We will run.” He answered Hero’s inquiring gaze.

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Several stressful weeks passed and the pirates doggedly shadowed their craft though they didn’t seem to gain. At long last land was sighted and the crew gave a cheer. The pirate gave up the chase and disappeared into the horizon. The captain rested his head against the mast. Hero approached and could hear him muttering his thanks to Tanit for a safe journey. “Thank you for running.” Hero began. Crenton lifted his head, “Thank you for the motivation. This shipment and your fare will erase the debt that has been hanging over me.” The permanent crinkle across his forehead lessened ever so slightly. Hero went below and opened one of his several containers. He measured a quantity of silver and took it to the captain. “The promised payment plus some for your men.” The captain weighed the bag with his hand and did Hero the honor of not counting its contents. The next day they sailed into the outer harbor of Carthage. Hero and Julia disembarked onto a wide stone road which eased the transport of goods. He froze, gazing at the familiar streets and flat-roofed buildings until Julia tapped his arm. Hero said by way of explanation, “It’s been a long time since I expected to see this place again. This way.” Hero led Julia into the maze of streets. Her wandering eyes were wide with wonder at the sights and sounds of the massive city. Rome had been viewed with the disdain of an enemy, but Carthage, an equally great city, sent her father and others across the world to do its bidding and to die. Still, it had a kind of beauty she’d never seen in Iberia. Hero’s thoughts went back to a happier time when he and David wandered the white streets in search of

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mischief. “Here is where we’ll stay.” Hero knocked on the door across from the ‘Theater of Laughter’. “Have you ever seen a show there?” Julia pointed toward the theater. Hero’s arm was extended through a hole in the wall to release a bar inside as a clattering noise announced his success. “David and I often climbed that house and watched from the roof. Best seats in the theater,” He winked and entered the single room building. “Who’s David?” Julia followed him through the door. “David… David is my brother,” Hero replied while surveying the dusty furnishings. “You have a brother?” Julia asked rhetorically. “I always wanted a brother.” Julia lost her focus for a second as she inspected the room, “You have never mentioned him before.” Hero smiled, “I believe you called him a brute.” Julia stopped in her tracks and stared at Hero. Her mouth moved but no words came out. She closed her mouth and started again, “He is your brother? His name is David?” Hero smiled again and changed the subject, “I’m curious why the streets are empty.” Julia wanted to talk about David, but argued instead as to his last claim, “There were lots of people in the streets.” “I am going to see what is going on. I have only seen two celebrations large enough to empty the streets like this.” Hero moved to the entrance and paused. He didn’t need to turn to see the pout on her face. “You can come if you want. Remember though, you are not Rimalbaal unless I say so.” She skipped to the door and hugged Hero before running into the street. Hero rolled his eyes and closed

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the door behind them. They followed groups who seemed to be moving toward the city center. The closer they got the larger the group became until no one could move. Hero grabbed Julia’s hand and nudged a man with his elbow, “What is going on?” The man was surprised but answered, “The celebration of…” his answer was interrupted by a deafening roar as everyone began cheering. Hero leaned close to Julia, “Stay close behind me. They are about to give the welcoming speech.” Hero tightened his grip of her hand and slowly began moving through the crowds until he came to the backside of several houses facing the speaker. “Climb after me. That’s our goal.” Hero pointed to the roof of the nearest house. A large tree provided the first footing for Hero, who pulled himself into its branches before hauling Julia after him. “Watch the thorns.” He warned. The window sill on the second floor provided a step to a branch above as the cheering stopped as suddenly as it’d begun. Finally, the limb served as a walkway to the roof where Hero helped Julia before settling himself. They’d both worked up quite a sweat in the African heat. Julia gasped and even Hero was impressed by the multitude below. In the minutes it had taken to climb, bodies had jammed into every possible inch of the square. Down every side street people were crammed and craning their necks. A man was speaking on a square platform that was raised above everyone and he was reciting a list of names. “He is telling us who is providing this celebration,” Hero explained in a whisper. “These gatherings cost a fortune -- you can see the food over there.”

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The speaker finished and introduced another man as Senator Thimrel. The new speaker mounted the platform and looked around for effect. “People of Carthage, those who once humbled us have been humbled. Rome has been defeated!” The cheers were deafening; the buildings themselves seemed to shake. The crowd shouted for several minutes and the Senator did not attempt to quiet them. He merely smiled and enjoyed the effect of his speech. As the crowd calmed, he raised his hands. “People of Carthage, we are victorious!” The Senator shouted and was answered by another roar. The speaker didn’t wait as long before raising his hands for silence which moved like a wave through the crowd. “Hannibal has led the armies of Carthage to victory on the fields’ of Italy. Three times have they fought our armies,” the Senator’s voice rose, “and three times they have been defeated!” Another roar erupted. The Senator motioned for silence again, “Tonight we celebrate what Carthaginian arms have gained at Ticinus, Trebia and Trasimene. We celebrate what Hannibal has done for Carthaginian pride!” The Senator raised his hands and descended from his stand. The crowd went crazy. As he drank in the spectacle before him, Hero’s heart raced with a pride he had never felt before. The multitude finally broke up, streaming down every street where food and drink were present. Each table was decorated with the rarest and costliest flowers available. Hero tugged on Julia’s arm, “Let’s eat.” Together they descended the way they had come and mingled in the streets. The speaker was moving in their direction followed by a small group heaping praises on his oration. Hero leaned into Julia’s ear and shouted to be heard, “If you ever wanted to see self congratulating politicians,

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this is your chance. They generally move together like packs of dogs.” A man who had been making his way toward the speaker faced Hero. He was wearing a headdress of white wrapped in a band of twisted gold and blue signifying he held the senatorial position. “How dare you insult your betters!” The man’s puffy cheeks were flushed with wine. “We provide the freedom you seem to enjoy...” The man’s declarations were cut short by the arrival of the speaker who was drawn to the conflict. He grasped the man’s shoulders and kissed both cheeks, “Dear Senator Gembelbaal, this is a day of celebration, not of conflict; let that remain with the Romans.” “Celebrate your hollow victory today, for tomorrow we continue our debate on the cost of this war,” the puffy faced man declared and turned on his heels, pushing through those present. “Welcome friend.” The speaker turned to Hero and embraced him, “You do not call this city home I assume.” “I do not,” Hero answered. “That would explain your argument with one of the peace party’s most vocal advocates,” the man smiled at his own deduction and continued to embrace those surrounding him. Hero watched in surprise at the familiarity he used in speaking to everyone around. The man was soon out of sight and he and Julia spent the next hour enjoying their first full meal since leaving Iberia. The festivities continued until the early evening when torches were brought forth and dancing began. Storytellers emerged using the same music as the dancers to provide

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a backdrop for tales of the first war with Rome and the atrocities committed by the enemy. In the distance priests stood chastising those gathered for such sensual behavior. Julia became exhausted, and they returned to their home in the wee hours of the morning, sleeping through the middle of the following day.

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CHAPTER 7 A Father ’s Pride; A Famil y ’s S h a m e The next day at sundown, Julia began to protest at being left behind when Hero prepared to depart, but she fell silent on seeing the special care he took in arming himself. As Hero stepped into the darkness, a shiver moved up his spine. The sensation of pride he’d felt for Carthage the day before had already dissipated with the new day and the cool light of reason; all he now yearned for was revenge - revenge for the murder of a father he barely knew; revenge for Nemalbaal’s assassination; revenge for the corruption running deep in the city. Without the crowds, the streets proved to be exactly as he remembered from his life, so long ago. A few minutes later, he was standing in front of his grandfather’s house, the same house he’d once robbed. Hero viewed the exterior windows appreciatively. They allowed him easier access than the central courtyards in Rome. A running start and a jump provided Hero a handhold which he used to pull himself over the wall and into a small garden abutting the house. His entrance through one of the lower windows was easily managed. “Who’s there?” a voice called. A light moved from the adjoining room toward Hero. Hero braced himself to the side of the room’s entrance and waited. The guard’s blade came through

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the door first followed by the lamp. When the face appeared, Hero drove the back of his fist into the man’s nose, clamping a hand over his mouth while driving his forehead into the wall. The guard collapsed unconscious. Hero knelt, checked for breath and made his way to the staircase. A heavy tread paced the hallway above accompanied by the sound of an occasional scrape against the stone wall. “Is it necessary that you continue grazing the wall with your sword?” A muted voice rebuked through the door. The pacing stopped though a grumble came from the soldier standing watch. Hero dropped to his knees and climbed the remaining steps, peeking over and around the top. The soldier was leaning against a window watching the moon move behind the clouds. Hero ran on tip toes, wishing to take advantage of his inattention, but the guard heard his footfalls and spun in alarm, reaching for his sword. Hero clamped his mouth and slammed his head into the wall. The sword clattered to the stone floor. The door burst open at the end of the hallway and an aged man Hero recognized as his grandfather, Senator Impotus, stood in the room’s backlight. He was dressed in a brown loose fitting straight gown holding a naked blade. “So a Senator will fight, when his own life is in danger. Should have known,” Hero grunted. Picking up the heavy sword on the ground, he felt its weight and discarded it. He drew his own blade and stepped closer. The Senator’s face turned several shades whiter. “What cause have you to put my life in danger?”

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“That you murdered my father, Senator Bemman, is enough. But you’re also a traitor to Carthage during one of her greatest struggles. That is worse than reprehensible.” Impotus’ face morphed from shock to shame at the accusations. “Herotyrus?” He squinted at the man before him and lowered his sword to the ground. “Do I need more justification to end the life of someone corrupt on so many levels?” Hero’s voice remained hard and he kept his penetrating gaze on the quivering man before him. Impotus threw his sword onto something soft in the room behind him, “Follow me.” He removed the lamp from the wall and walked down stairs. Hero cautiously followed the light noting how Impotus stepped over the unconscious guard on the lower level without compassion or regard before moving into an inner room. “We should have had this conversation under different circumstances. Tanit wills it however.” Impotus pointed toward a chair and lowered the lamp to a table with shaking hand and paced the room. “How are you able to maintain your position? David and I burned your outstanding credit.” Hero crossed his legs, preparing himself for the excuses. “You should be poor.” “So you are Herotyrus,” Impotus mumbled. He waved his hand in the air, “I had copies. Any half intelligent man makes duplicates.” His face had regained its composure. His eyes moved over Hero’s face, memorizing every detail. “Your father and I were once close allies against Rome. He was a little older than you when he asked for my daughter’s hand and I was pleased it would go to one such as him. She was as pleased as

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I, for she knew him quite well from his visits to our house. Two years after they were joined, we lost the war with Rome and a new threat arose. The mercenary’s we had used against Rome held Carthage at their mercy. The priests of Tanit called on all to reject our evil ways for righteousness. They demanded the Senators set an example for the people by sacrificing their children to appease Tanit.” Impotus became quiet, but continued a moment later. “You and David were two or so years old at the time. When your father told your mother, she refused. She threatened her own life if you were taken. Your father didn’t push the matter. I don’t think he wanted it either.” Impotus searched Hero’s hardened face for some reaction. He sighed when none showed and continued. “Then we had several losses under Hanno and Trabian Humal, the new high priest, condemned your father’s delays and made fresh demands that could not be denied.” A pause ensued when Hero grunted. “I know him. He told David and me we could repay our father’s debt by going to Iberia.” Hero interrupted. “Your mother refused to allow it and hid you. She returned however and faced…” Impotus took a long breath. “Your father handed her over to the priests who had her executed for blasphemies against Tanit.” Impotus took a seat across from Hero and leaned forward. “It wasn’t long after, that your father decided the war needed to end. No matter the cost. He became a strong supporter of Hamilcar Barcid and I made an oath of vengeance on him for betraying our cause.” Impotus rose from his seat and began to pace again. “We both knew the real reason for my vow however, which wasn’t the war.” His voice sank to a whisper,

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“He asked to meet his sons before I fulfilled my vow. He wanted to ask your forgiveness...for your mother. Neither of us knew it would be over eighteen years before he would meet you.” “Except that you kept his property and wealth for your own gain.” Hero rubbed his eyes in concentration. Impotus studied Hero intently before answering. “Part of what you say is true; I do have your possessions. They are untouched as they were left to me.” The Senator seemed to recover his emotions. “Over the years I came to regret my rash vow. We both knew it could not be undone however. It was your father who came and told me he was ready. He didn’t want you in politics so he arranged for his disgraceful removal as a traitor.” Hero stared into the flickering lamp flame, lost in thought. The story was detailed; very detailed. It fit with the small fragments he knew from others. After several minutes of digesting the information, Hero ran his fingers through his hair and stood. “None of that matters. That is part of the past. Now you have decided to betray Carthage to the enemy.” “I am neither murderer Herotyrus nor traitor. Therino was the traitor, but he was assassinated months ago.” Impotus shrugged. “I know.” A slight scraping of metal outside the door drew both men’s attention. “I’ll tell them not to worry.” The door gave a light creek as it swung open before its master. The guard was resting on one knee, his head in his hands. The light that streamed through the open door bothered the man’s eyes who lifted his hand against the glare. His eyes widened on spotting Hero behind his employer.

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“We are safe. I requested this man to come in a stealthy manner.” Impotus patted the man’s shoulder before closing the door again. “How could you know?” he continued as if uninterrupted. “Hannibal instructed David to root out the traitors in Carthage. David discovered proof that you and Therino were working together and acted accordingly.” Impotus’ upper lip began to shake, “Acted accordingly? Muttunbaal was murdered because of David,” his voice shuddered with emotion as his chin dropped to his chest. “We were married for forty-five years.” “You weren’t collaborating with a pirate named Potitus? He spoke on behalf of Senator Markus of Rome.” Hero saw his grandfather flinch. “You probably don’t know this since Potitus is dead, but the Senator was exiled from Rome. Your plan for Sicily is over.” Hero couldn’t stop his voice from sounding slightly triumphant. “You understand nothing!” Impotus rose and pointed at Hero, “If Sicily failed, nothing is lost except hard work, though the potential for gain was enormous. Hannibal on the other hand throws the fortunes of Carthage at a single war. No doubt, a victory could be glorious, but defeat will mean our destruction.” The anger drained and was replaced with tears. “None of that matters because of David.” “What happened at Trasimene?” “Seek your answers elsewhere Herotyrus.” Hero began to speak, but stopped short on seeing his grandfather’s shoulders shaking. The meeting was over, and not in a way he’d expected. Hero left the room, perplexed at not receiving the answers he’d hoped for. The night had taken on a darker shade and chillier

A Fath er’s Prid e; A Famil y’s Shame

aspect when Hero regained the streets. A stiff breeze foretold of a storm from the sea. His grandmother’s death struck him the same as when he considered the unjust death of Melsia, granted he didn’t know if his grandfather’s story was true. Running steps broke into his deep thoughts and he turned. Too late, he saw a blade descending. Hero raised his arms to deflect the blow, but the sword bit deep into his forearm, drawing back for another strike. Hero attempted to yell as he dropped to his knees. The assailant clamped a hand over his mouth, silencing the scream and drove his blade forward. The realization that he had failed struck Hero before the pain. The sword was thrust two more times before clattering to the stone street. A sigh of disappointment escaped Hero’s throat as he collapsed on his head. All the people left behind passed through his mind until his thoughts came to rest on Renea. “Push Hero.” A faint voice ordered. Hero’s eyes opened expecting to find someone, but he was alone. His moment of despair passed replaced with a resolve. He drew his legs under him and pushed himself across the uneven surface. The effort was enormous but he moved. The height of the buildings on either side distracted him for a moment as he considered the effort required to fill each wall with ground limestone. Again his legs drew back and he surged. The Theater of Laughter appeared on his right. He must have been closer than he remembered. His head turned and sigh escaped on seeing the welcoming sight of his own door. His legs curled and pushed until he was lying next to the wooden barrier. He reached and hit the door with all his strength. Hero closed his eyes,

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exhausted as the door remained immobile. Hero didn’t care. With the loss of blood, went his energy and desire for life. To rest felt good…

a A repeated tapping filtered to Hero’s brain. His eyelids cracked open as the face of a strange boy no more than eight years old, filled his vision. “Mother, he’s awake.” he yelled excitedly. The rhythmic chopping ceased and hurried footsteps drew near until a woman with rough features peered down at him, “I can’t believe you are alive. This is good news for us.” She dipped her hand into a clay pot and began to smear a yellowy substance on Hero’s bare chest; the smell of onions drifted to Hero’s nose. “Go wake Rimaelbaal. Tell her not to speak though.” She ordered, and the boy ran from the room. “She didn’t sleep for the first two days. When she did, we carried her to the other room,” the woman explained to Hero. The explanation was cut short by the entrance of Julia who ran into the room behind the boy. Her eyes were bloodshot but her smile was radiant. She took her place at his side, obediently silent. Hero wanted her to know he was glad to see her safe, but his throat refused to open. He covered his mouth as a coughing fit racked his frame. When he removed his hand, it was covered in blood. “Don’t talk would be the lesson learned there.” The woman reprimanded, applying another layer of the yellow substance on his chest. Hero pulled Julia into a light embrace with his clean hand and kissed her head. He then pointed to the room

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she had come from and closed his eyes as if asleep. Julia understood but didn’t budge. That didn’t last long as the mother moved behind Julia and propelled her from the room. “Sleep, don’t come back until you have.” She glanced at Hero, “You have to use a firm hand with this generation - rebellious bunch.” Her voice faded out while still bemoaning youth. The tapping of a knife soon resumed its furious pace. Hero’s thoughts traveled to a more pressing issue; the loss of all movement below his arms. Hero tried to lift himself but his neck trembled under the strain and he couldn’t move. A spasm shook his neck as his head slammed into the table. He gritted his teeth but a motion from the corner caught his eye and he turned his head. Julia was lying in the doorway, watching. Hero wanted to smile reassuringly, but couldn’t force it out. Moisture welled in his eyes which he fought to control. The sense of helplessness was crushing and as he turned away a tear trickled over the bridge of his nose to the floor. He stifled a sigh and closed his eyes, wishing he could sleep. Hero’s eyes opened wide to violent shakes that pulled him from his sleep. The mysterious mother was charging into the room and Julia was covering her eyes. “What happened?” Hero murmured, pleased to find his voice returned. Julia’s face paled and she took several steps back. “Please finish the vegetables.” The mother said kindly, propelling Julia from the room with her hand. “...a little too kindly.” Hero thought, remembering her earlier demeanor. When Julia had disappeared, Hero repeated his question, “What happened?”

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The woman fiddled with his bandages and said, “She shook you without response. Rimaelbaal thought you were… dead. It seems to be something else however.” “I know. I can only move my head and arms.” Hero’s voice remained steady as he announced his condition. “I could try something, though it’s not really for this. Males mostly use it for…other reasons, but it might stimulate you. Everyone is going to think I am getting it for Crenton.” She chuckled at the thought and dipped her hand into a yellow liquid. “You are his wife? How did you get involved in this?” Hero whispered, raising his head to watch what she was doing. “Rimaelbaal ran to Crenton’s ship and he happened to be there. Your girl made some big promises about coin…” “Be silent wife!” Crenton’s large frame blocked the sunlight from the door. “You shame our family.” “Ahh, Husband, you are earlier than expected.” She hurried to the door, kissed her husband’s cheek and emptied a pitcher of water into a basin on the floor. “It was only a short run to Clupea.” “I need to finish the evening meal. Can you change his bandages? Those are soaked.” She indicated the bloody bandages on Hero’s chest. “Forgive her,” Crenton bent and rubbed the dirt from between his toes. “She is not a greedy woman.” “I understand why you love the ocean now.” Crenton guffawed and nodded while drying his feet. “Every man likes some time to himself.” He moved to Hero’s side and lifted the first bandage. “That doesn’t hurt?” he asked.

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“I can’t feel anything. I found out earlier when I tried to move. I don’t know how long I’ve slept, but I’m still tired.” Hero’s sigh was interrupted. “You’ve slept almost five days.” Julia took up a position against the stone wall where she watched Crenton apply new bandages. Hero was taken aback. “Can you do something for me Crenton? I need you to bring Senator Thimrel here tomorrow, I must speak with him. Before you do, go to your warehouse and open one of my barrels and remove whatever silver Julia promised you on my behalf.” Hero raised his hand to stop the coming protest, “If you do not do this, I will have to send Julia. Also take double my previous rate coming here. When I recover, I need you to take me to Rome.” Crenton’s mouth sagged a little at this statement. He swallowed hard, “Are you a spy?” Hero’s head rested on the table and his eyes closed, “No. I don’t think so.” The room became quiet and Hero lapsed into a deep sleep. When he woke, wet rags were stretched over his forehead and Julia was changing them. “What happened?” She jumped and beamed a relieved smile, “Wait here, I am supposed to make you eat this.” Running from the room, she left Hero to wonder where exactly he could go. In seconds, she returned with a clay bowl, “You must eat this soup. Then you need to drink some water. The Senator is coming again today.” Hero slowly lifted his hand to accept the bowl, “Don’t worry, I’ll be up in a few days.” The hot soup felt good sliding down his throat even though it burned. When he had finished, he lifted the bandages. The flesh

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surrounding the wound was white and yellow with a rotting odor. A knock interrupted Hero’s examination and Senator Thimrel stood on the threshold holding a basket. He surveyed the room before setting the basket at the foot of Hero’s table. Hero had liked the man when he’d met him briefly after his speech in the square, but his current pompous attitude was overwhelming. He was roughly thirtyfive years old with a meticulously groomed beard. His careful movement’s spoke of long practiced behavior. “Thank you for coming.” Hero’s voice didn’t come out as strong as he had hoped. Thimrel pulled a fruit from the basket and handed it to Hero. “Hannibal’s unofficial report speaks very highly of you, Herotyrus. He says you are both bold and discreet. Coming from a Barcid, that is an extraordinary compliment. I came yesterday, but you weren’t doing too well; it’s good to see you somewhat better.” Hero attempted a sitting position but couldn’t hold it so he lay back down. “At the warehouse of Captain Crenton there are seven barrels-full of silver from Iberia. You’ll find some missing. I used it for my journey here.” Hero followed Thimrel’s eyes to Julia, “She knows everything I do.” “The silver has been sporadic for the past year. Why the delays? And why this unusual delivery?” “Because Nemalbaal Malbar, her father, has been assassinated and Roman pirates swarm the seas between us. Once the pirates learned of the silver, they lost all interest in capturing slaves, as you can imagine.” Weakness swept over Hero who closed his eyes.

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Thimrel appeared surprised on learning this. “I had believed her dead after so long… Where did you find her? Nemalbaal wanted to send her to Carthage one day.” Hero’s voice stuck and he cleared his throat. “That’s a long story,” he finally answered. “How did the pirates learn of the mines? That was one of our better kept secrets! Our captains didn’t even know what they carried. I thought Nemalbaal had disguised his mine to look smaller than it was.” “I don’t know,” Hero’s voice was nearly inaudible and his eyes were closing. “I’ll find out.” Thimrel moved to the door, “Rest and be well, the few of us who know of you appreciate your labors.” He left without waiting for an answer. Hero’s eyes snapped open when the door closed. “Peek out and see if any men are watching the house,” he ordered in a full voice. Julia ran to the door, “I don’t see anyone.” Her head swiveled around the corner to the left. She snatched it in quickly, “There is a man in the shadowy corner across the street. He stared right at me.” “No matter what Julia, do not leave this house until I am well…” The door opened behind Julia, who jumped in alarm. “It’s only me,” Crenton said quickly, glancing between Hero and Julia. “Did you meet with the Senator?” “Yes. I hope you got your silver,” Hero smiled when he received a nod. “I have a big request Crenton. I need you to follow Senator Thimrel and find out

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where he goes and in particular, the names of the other Senators he visits.” A long silence followed before Crenton replied. “I believe you are a decent man Hero; but these requests…” he shook his head, “You want me to follow a Senator. You are going to Rome…” his voice trailed off. “I am no traitor Crenton,” Hero answered slowly; “and Rimaelbaal is not my daughter. She is the daughter of Nemalbaal Malbar. He was an officer charged with protecting the silver in Iberia and he was betrayed by someone in Carthage. That is why I am here. Do you understand my precarious situation? I swear by Tanit, what I say is true.” “All right, I will get something to eat and go.” Hero grabbed Crenton’s arm as he was walking past, “Be careful, there is a man across the street. I… I am sorry for asking this of you.” Crenton placed a hand on his shoulder and a spasm rocked Hero. Fire spread from his stomach to his chest and Hero curled into a ball as pain rippled and swelled throughout his body. Crenton tried to hold Hero down, but he convulsed uncontrollably. Ragged gasps hissed between Hero’s clenched teeth. Crenton wrung his hands, while his indecision held him motionless. The cloth bandages began to seep blood as the wounds reopened. Finally, Crenton pointed to the door, “Go right, until you are directly across from the Tophet of Tanit -- Kemshel the Healer lives there. Bring him here now.” “He said I shouldn’t leave,” Julia protested, alternately looking to Hero and Crenton. “He will die!” Crenton pushed her to the door. “Run, fast!”

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The prediction struck Julia forcefully. Casting another fleeting look toward Hero, she sprinted from the room in the direction of the healer. Crenton hurried back to Hero’s side and began to lay wet cloths across his forehead, which were cast to the floor with each thrash. The minutes passed slowly and the seizures did not abate. Crenton, who restlessly replaced the rags every few seconds, had just begun to concoct excuses for Rimaelbaal’s long absence when the creak of the door sent Crenton spinning. He was greeted by his wife and son who were returning from the market. “Watch him, I must go look for Rimaelbaal!” Crenton ran from the house and frantically searched the streets. There was no sight of Julia along the route she should have taken to the healer. Crenton’s gangly legs awkwardly sprinted down side streets to the healer’s door as steps approached from behind. “If you love your son, stop looking for Rimaelbaal.” A shoulder brushed past Crenton. Crenton’s grabbed the man’s arm, spinning him. The man’s cloak fell from his bald head. “She was entrusted to me.” “She was entrusted to Senator Thimrel long before your friend. Tell Herotyrus that he is allowed to live for his dedication to rooting out the traitors in our midst.” The mysterious man covered the smooth skin of his scalp again and departed. Crenton scowled and curled his fists, furious at the threat so baldly issued. He walked with slow steps back to his house which was calm. His wife was leaning over Hero who lay unconscious. Crenton went to the table and placed his arm over his wife’s shoulders.

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“She’ll turn up Crenton, probably wanted time to herself.” She leaned into her husband’s embrace. “He’s not good,” she indicated Hero with her head. “You bound him?” he asked, and fingered the knot. “He was thrashing about. Your son tied the knot, it’s the one you taught…” her voice tapered off as she noticed his distracted gaze. “She’ll come back…” “I’ll be back later tonight.” He kissed his wife, nodded to Hero’s immobile body and went into the streets. More time had passed than he realized and the sun had disappeared over the walls, leaving only the remnants of the day. Crenton gave a grunt of satisfaction and stepped purposefully in the direction of the Senator’s house. Sidling against a wall when the house came into sight, he stood in the shadows. Thimrel exited the house and mounted a chair which was hoisted on the shoulders of four slaves. Rimaelbaal appeared in the doorway escorted by two guards. Crenton watched her cast a desperate glance up and down the street. Her shoulders slumped and a small packet fell to the stones. Thimrel saw the feint and indicated to the guards to hand him the packet. Unfolding the parchment, he glanced at the message and started to laugh. Rimaelbaal said something which displeased Thimrel, for the laughing stopped and the guards jostled her into the second chair. Crenton gripped the broad fishing knife he carried and considered charging the two guards. But thoughts of who would provide for his family stayed his hasty actions and his grasp loosened. Taking up a position on the corner, he waited.

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Four hours passed and Crenton decided they were not returning that night. He stretched his legs and headed back to his house. Crenton knew the Senator had land outside the city, like every other rich person; he needed to find out where. On returning, he noticed the door to his house was partially open. He entered slowly; alert. Hero watched Crenton enter with wide eyes. A gag prevented him from making a noise. Crenton saw his predicament and rushed to remove the gag. A noise from the corner drew his attention and Crenton froze. Hanging from the ceiling, his wife’s body swung from a rope and their son lay at her feet in a pool of blood. Crenton staggered against the wall, and slid to the floor, as he stared at his family. Minutes passed, while tears slipped silently down his face. Slowly standing, Crenton wiped the wet from his cheeks and remembered Hero’s presence. As he removed the gag, his eyes wandered to Hero’s wrists which were covered in blood. Hero had torn through his skin trying to break free of the rope. “His knot held,” the captain whispered, rubbing the bloody rope before his knife cut through the bond, freeing Hero. He gripped the knife tight until it shook and then launched it at the wall next to his son. The blade bounced and thudded onto his son’s leg causing it to jerk. Crenton cried out and lurched to his side, grabbing the boy in his arms, hugging him fiercely. When there was no response, Crenton began to sob uncontrollably as he stoked the hair from his brow. “He was very brave,” Hero quietly offered. “Who did it?” Crenton’s voice shook with emotion.

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“I don’t know. They wore coverings. Who would do this to you?” Hero raised himself to a sitting position with his legs hanging over the side and stood but couldn’t move. The open wound began bleeding down his chest. Crenton raised his head from his son, -- his eyes were hard. He grabbed his knife and lowered his wife’s body next to their son. “If I can do anything…” Hero’s knees began to shake. He leaned against the table and tried to pull himself up but his arms collapsed leaving him in a heap on the floor. A look of disgust crossed Hero’s face at his weakness. Crenton hurried to Hero’s side, saying, “I don’t want anything… yet.” The sailor picked Hero up as if he were a sack of grain and laid him on the table, “Rest.”

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CHAPTER 8 A Stor m’s Fur y Crenton was up before dawn, though Hero knew he hadn’t slept; throughout the night sobs could be heard from the nearby room. Crenton left the house before sunrise returning as day broke with four sailors who carried planks between them. They mournfully loaded the son and wife for their last journey. Hero lay on his back listening to the mourner’s cries as the bodies reached the street. When more joined in the procession, the lament increased, and Hero closed his eyes. The noise faded as the crowd left the city. Hero wondered if his own mother had received the same honor. It was several hours before Crenton returned. As he slowly closed the door, Hero noticed no tears to indicate that the funeral had been for his family, but he doubted not the sailor’s grief. As he set about preparing a meal for two, Crenton pause to stare at the knife his wife had used in the kitchen. He noticed Hero’s sympathetic gaze, “It’s nothing, it’s just she used this lot.” His fingers played with the handle, “She was a good woman.” Hero nodded in agreement, “She was… salty.” Crenton gave a hoarse laugh, “That she was. Her tongue could be strong… but her heart was big. She’s the only reason our son turned out as well as he did.” He pushed the unprepared food to one side. “Twelve

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years we were married. The first four were the toughest you know. Neither of us wanted the marriage from the start. It all changed when we had our son. I became serious about providing a better home and I think she appreciated the change… I had finally paid off my debts with your fare.” A long silence followed this information until Crenton rose. “I need you to get strong, move your legs while you lay.” “You say it was Thimrel’s man who warned you. You should begin watching Thimrels house for information. We’re going to need it.” Hero replied. Two months passed following this pattern. Crenton discovered, during his daily scouring of the city that Thimrel only returned to Carthage for Senate duty, but left immediately following. While Crenton combed the city for information, Hero used the time for retraining and strengthening his weakened body. Within weeks, he was walking gingerly around the house without fear of damage. As Hero’s vigor returned, plans began to form for Julia’s recovery. An unspoken agreement was forged that Crenton’s family would be avenged the day of her return. Hero met Crenton at the door on one of his returns, “Did you get it?” “The silver was removed the day after you told the Senator. A friend at the docks let me into the barrels, but they were empty.” Crenton sniffed the food Hero was preparing. “No surprise there. Politicians have only one thing on their mind, and those barrels held a whole lot of it. You need to find three horses we can use. We also need to find a way out of the city once the deed is done.”

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Their eyes met with this statement; one was full of terrible hatred, the other deep resolve.

a The next month was filled with the necessary preparations. There was a marked increase in activity at the Senator’s Carthage house. Every morning Thimrel visited the house leaving in the late afternoon to apprise Hero of developments and to set plans in order. Hero’s wounds had fully healed and he’d regained the feeling in his legs, but as a precaution he stayed in the house. The door burst open with a loud crack and Crenton entered, slamming it shut. “We have a problem,” Crenton said breathlessly from his long run. “The same bald man visited me again. He threatened to murder you unless I stopped snooping around. Rimaelbaal is to be married tonight to a Senator Impotus.” “What?!” Hero shouted, running into the main room. “Thimrel is claiming Rimaelbaal as his own daughter by virtue of her father’s will. No one is contesting the claim either.” Hero paced the room, but he forced calm on his agitated thoughts before answering, “We must move tonight. He’ll know we’re coming though.” A short pause and he spoke again. “They threatened to kill me? Our plan worked then. They think I’m still lying on the table because I haven’t left the house.” His fingers ran through his hair and over his sunken cheeks. “Crenton, go several houses down and stop. We need to get rid of the man watching this house.”

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Crenton eagerly jumped to the door and disappeared through it. Hero pressed his eye against the wooden frame and watched the man follow. When they had traveled ten paces, Hero slipped from the house and crept behind the man, pinning his arms. The man nearly pulled Hero’s arms from their sockets in his surprise. “Come quietly or come dead.” Hero whispered in his ear before leading him back to the open door. Indicating a chair in the opposite corner, Hero turned to close the door as Crenton entered. “Where is Rimaelbaal being held?” Hero poked his head out the door to see if they’d been noticed, but everything appeared normal. He turned to face the captive as Crenton was removing his knife from the man’s chest. “We didn’t even know if he was involved in all this!” “He was. He’s the one that reported I had left the house.” Crenton answered confidently. “I hope so, or his children just lost their father for no reason.” Hero kneeled; checking to make sure the man was indeed dead. “And we didn’t get any information.” He grumbled in frustration. Crenton mumbled something incoherent and retreated to the kitchen to retrieve the prepared sack of food. “I will see you tomorrow.” “Let us hope you do.” Hero closed the stranger’s eyes and intercepted Crenton at the door, “Forgive my outburst. I understand the losses you have suffered. Hero embraced his friend, “This might be goodbye.” Crenton returned the embrace, “Dispense justice.” His eyes traveled to the dead man. “I am inadequate for the job.” He left. Tramping feet on the street outside alerted Hero to the presence of the city watch. An icy sweat broke out.

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Someone must have spotted them dragging the man into the house. The small windows at the top of the wall were far too small for escape. Hero waited anxiously for the door to burst open, but the footsteps passed, continuing down the street. When the last of the steps faded, Hero slipped out and went straight for the city wall, merging with a small group of slaves exiting for their jobs at their master’s farms. The difference between the walls of Rome and walls of Carthage were stark to Hero as he passed through the gate. Those in Rome were manned by soldiers searching for a threat, while the lone guard watching the gate in Carthage only roused himself occasionally to remove some fruit from a passing slave. The security of the city depended solely on the twenty feet of stone which comprised its walls. An hour’s walk brought him to the house where Crenton had stashed the horses. “Oh yes,” the elderly woman of the house said. “Please wait, I’ll get the surplus, he paid for two months.” The old woman returned to the house to retrieve the coin. Hero whispered to the grandson, “Keep it for yourself.” He winked at the boy who returned a gaping smile as he gathered the reigns. Taking hold of the second and third horse, Hero set off at a brisk pace. As the hour passed, Hero became concerned that the distance was farther than thought. After two miles he passed a fork in the road which ran parallel the coast, though many miles from it. The sky darkened from red to a muted orange as the sun set, but to Hero, the sky was a bloody backdrop. Even the sandy countryside and tall swaying grasses following Carthage’s coast seemed dark and ominous to him. The road according to Crenton ran directly past

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the Senator’s house, which was the only good news. Hero swapped horses at the second frustrating hour. A full array of stars sprinkled the sky by the time torches from Thimrel’s house came into view. The nuptial celebration was taking place, based on the activity outside. Hero made a brief deviation at a tree where he tied two horses before riding directly to the entrance. “I am Herotyrus Bemman and come at the invitation of Senator Thimrel.” Hero accosted the welcoming slave and tapped his feet impatiently. “I don’t know your name. Please allow me to ask my master.” Hero mumbled something about being insulted but didn’t move, much to the slave’s relief. Two minutes later a large Nubian appeared, followed by the original greeter. “My master would like to meet with you in private,” he indicated Hero should follow. Hero noticed on leaving that the slaves were not moving his horse. A subtle wink between the two revealed to Hero the meeting was to be a short one. The Nubian led Hero to the second of three floors and a room which looked like an office. Hero eyed three swords hanging on the wall above a desk. Spinning about with a club raised over Hero’s head, the Nubian was astonished to find a knife at his neck. “Give it to me,” Hero hissed. “Now turn around and get on your knees.” Hero swung the cudgel against the man’s head. The Nubian growled and his head snapped back. Hero brought the club down again directly on the crown and the body sagged. As Hero considered the size of the house, he realized too late that finding Julia without a guide would

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be difficult. He prodded the body with his foot, “He’s going to have a massive headache.” He’d been on the receiving end far too often not to be sympathetic. Hero yanked all three swords from their holding brackets. The first was too broad and heavy for his taste while the second was dull from neglect. The third was like a gift as it was perfectly balanced and sharp, having never been used. With the naked blade in hand Hero began a systematic search of the second floor. With no sight or sound of Julia, he moved to the third floor. A door near the end of the hall had the sign of Tanit carved in the wood. Hero smiled on hearing Julia’s voice from the other side. It had been several months, and he had missed her. He was about to open the door when Thimrel’s voice boomed from within. Hero withdrew his hand and searched the hall for something he could use to advantage. Grabbing an oil lamp from the wall, he faced the door with a lowered shoulder. With a deep breath, he charged the door, flattening someone on the other side. Hero stumbled, regaining his balance while taking in the scene at a glance. A guard charged, and Hero’s sword struck, leaving the man with a savage chest wound. The remaining two recoiled while Thimrel stood his ground. “Hero!” Julia screamed, taking a step forward, but her progress was stopped by one of the slaves. “I wish you hadn’t come Herotyrus. I really don’t want to kill you.” Thimrel watched Hero move around the perimeter, closing the distance to Julia. “You have a protective instinct, but now you are being stupid. I am looking out for her future as her father wanted. You on the other hand, selfishly won’t let go.”

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Hero grunted, “Is that how you silence anyone who opposed your plans? With lies? And when that doesn’t work you resort to the sword and noose?” Hero raised his blade, continuing to hold the lamp in the other hand. The Senators face blanched momentarily, “Truly, Hannibal’s praise doesn’t do you credit. We can solve peacefully -- how much do you want?” Hero laughed, “Every politician’s defense – and weakness - money and ego. I’ve only met one Senator who wasn’t a worm and he was stabbed in the back by cowards.” The blade pointed directly at Thimrel, “I come on behalf of a sailor to avenge his family.” Thimrel made an attempt to flee, but Hero cocked the lamp back and threw it with all his strength. The clay shattered and burst into a ball of flames. Hero used the distraction to kill the two remaining guards. “Please have mercy!” Thimrel cried from his knees with raised hand. “I watched as your men…” Hero glanced at Julia. “…what your men did to Crenton’s wife! They didn’t just kill her, which is unforgiveable.” Hero placed the blade against Thimrel’s chest. “Wait!” Thimrel shouted his voice laced with fear. Hero stabbed him in the chest, “Too late for that.” “Assassination! There are whispers of Hannibal’s early demise among some in Carthage,” his voice faltered as his body collapsed to the stone floor. “Of course, you are dead now too. They’ve won…” The frown which accompanied this statement remained though the life had fled. “You look pretty,” Hero said softly and knelt as Julia rushed into his arms.

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Her answer came through a mixture of laughter and tears, “I didn’t know if you were alive or dead.” “We need to move,” Hero said and rushed her around the puddles of blood. Julia didn’t argue but followed Hero downstairs. On the second floor voices could be heard calling for their master. Hero moved to a side room where they ducked. When the searchers passed, the two sprinted down the remaining flight of stairs and out the door. Hero held his sword toward the slave still holding his horse and without a word the reins were handed over. Hero mounted and indicated with his sword, “Help her.” A shout from inside froze all conversations as Thimrel’s body was found. Hero kicked the horse into a gallop, leaving the wide eyed slave behind. Clouds had moved in, covering the crescent moon, and Hero had difficulty finding the two horses he’d tied to the tree. Hero nearly threw Julia into the saddle before mounting his own fresh mount. For roughly half an hour, Hero pushed them at a frantic pace before finally slowing to a hasty canter. “I’m sorry I took so long,” Hero broke the silence. “Sorry? I am so happy. Thimrel told me you were dead but I didn’t believe it…” her voice trailed off. “I didn’t know what to believe. You were so sick.” They rode in silence until the fork in the road appeared. Hero picked up the pace again, taking the branch that led away from Carthage to the south east. When two hours had passed, Hero spoke as he walked beside his horse, “Crenton said there was water directly past a house made of mud. The problem is… I think we missed the house in the dark.”

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“Could it be those lights behind us?” Julia asked. “No, that is not a house. We need to go!” Hero boosted her into the saddle and switched horses again. For another two hours, the rapid pace was maintained, but behind them the torches of their pursuers’ were drawing near. “Hear that? Head to the sea!” Hero rode off the path and continued blindly through the tall grass. They hadn’t gone far when the weeds turned to a white sandy beach. “Father told me mother loved to walk the beaches at night when they lived here. I can see why. The sand is so white it almost glows.” At her comment, Hero reconsidered their path, “Ride at the very edge of the grass. We’ll be harder to see.” The rumbling of horsemen passed their location. “That must have been fifty horsemen…” The hypnotic crashing waves filled the silence while Hero continued to lead them down the shoreline. Another rumble broke the night, followed ten minutes later by a third group of cavalry. When the last had passed, Hero pulled his horse to a halt. “Why are we stopping?” Julia asked. “Using conservative numbers, a hundred and fifty troops just passed. They know we can’t head for Carthage, so they’re heading for Cleopa; we can’t get there undetected now,” Hero dismounted and began to remove his saddle. “Start removing yours, we need to disappear...” he added under his breath, “with no food or water.” Dropping his saddle to the sand, he began to dig. When the hole was a sufficient size, he dropped the saddle in and piled the sand on top. The next hole was dug while Julia removed the last two saddles, so that all

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three were buried in twenty minutes. Leading the gentlest of the three horses by the mane through a grass field, the other two followed. Once across the trail, he lined them up and slapped each one hard on the rear, sending them off at a gallop. He hoped fervently they wouldn’t stop to eat until out of sight. At a fast trot himself he returned to Julia on the beach, “We have a few hours before sunrise.” Julia didn’t answer; the adrenaline rush had passed, and she was struggling to stay awake. She lethargically plodded, until she was suddenly doused with ice cold ocean water. She struggled to stand, as she spit salt water, “I’m awake!” “Try and stay that way until we find somewhere safe. One misstep and we’re dead,” Hero said persuasively. The water kept Julia alert for a period of time, but eventually the shock of it wore off. As she followed Hero up the endless beach, she shook her head periodically in an attempt to see straight. Finally, she lowered herself into the sand and curled into a ball, “I don’t care…” she mumbled. She dreamed she was flying over the white beach on a very grumpy horse. As her horse sneezed, her unconscious state became semi-conscious. It registered that she was being carried, and she jerked away, tumbling to the ground where she landed hard. In the dim lighting she saw a tall man with his back to the sky and she scrambled away toward the grass. “Julia, it’s me,” Hero said, extending his hand. Julia collected herself and stood up -- Hero had been carrying her on top of his sword. The hard object explained the crick in her neck where the handle had wedged itself.

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“I can walk,” Julia stated brusquely. Though the light was dim, he could read her embarrassment. A smile played on Hero’s lips, “We’re almost there anyways – David and I found it once when we were young.” The destination he referred to was a small cave at the beginning of a series of small cliffs following the water line. As they entered the enclosure, a tinkle of fresh water could be heard at the back. “It’s an underground river, which is good, because I’m thirsty from carrying you.” With four strides he was at the back kneeling for a drink. “Some of the tribes in Iberia believed that carrying a woman makes her your wife,” Julia declared. Hero choked and snorted water up his nose, coughing uncontrollably. When he could breathe, he gave a nervous laugh, “First I’ve heard, though it sounds like something they’d come up with. I need some sleep.” He moved away and lay down.

a The majority of the next day was spent sleeping and waiting for the sun to go down. Hero’s plan was simple. Crenton was waiting in Cleopa with the ship. Until the search relaxed, there would be no way to make it through the city gates. They would wait for the search parties to move on and then continue forward. Priorities came first however. “I need to gather food tonight. Stay near the entrance and go inside if you see anything at all.” “Yes, master,” she said and smirked. “This is serious.” Julia straightened herself, “I know, and I will.” Her hair whipped in the stiff breeze as she watched Hero

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move from the cave. He gave her a last wave before plunging into the thick grass. The current course of action was almost as risky as continuing to run. Even if he found food to take, the search area would narrow for the soldiers once the food was reported missing. His one advantage was that the searchers were looking for a girl. Hero jogged in what he assumed was the direction of the trail. Darkness descended as the sky became overcast. The wind gusts picked up violently, beating the grass and briars against Hero’s legs. The pain didn’t register since his legs still lacked feeling, and he plodded on, blissfully oblivious to every annoying sensation. What little sun there was soon disappeared with night. The moon had barely illuminated the ground the night before, with clearer skies, but with the current cloud cover, there was no light to move by, which meant an increased chance of getting lost or caught. Seconds after he picked up his pace, a flash of lightning lit the field as bright as day, revealing a body of horsemen approaching. Hero fell to the dirt as an unseen rock tripped him. Hero didn’t dare lift his head, but if the horsemen continued on their course they would trample him. He had expected heavy patrols on the roads, but they were now searching the fields. A moment of concern for Julia passed, but his more imminent capture took precedence. The wind carried a horse’s whinny to Hero and fragments of a conversation followed. “I know what I…” “The men have… all day. A storm… want to be wet.” “Yes sir.” Hero didn’t breathe while listening. The murmur of conversation lasted roughly thirty seconds.

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Another voice shouted above the others, “Move out! I don’t want to be wet.” A brief cheer came from the soldiers as the large body galloped past. Hero realized then that they had not been searching the fields but that the road was only a few feet away. He released the air from his chest in the form of a sigh. A blinding flash arrested him and he instinctively cowered. The neigh of a nearby horse betrayed the horsemen’s plans as Hero lay flat and drew the grass more heavily over him. “Search the field!” A voice yelled, “Kill on sight.”A small party had been left behind to catch him unaware. Horses thrashed through the grass close to him as lightning struck again followed two seconds later by a clap of thunder. A lone rain drop landed on Hero’s forehead fulfilling the promise of a storm and a white streak ripped open the heavens like a jagged tear. Simultaneously, an explosion shook the ground with the force of a god’s voice, causing Hero’s body to tremble uncontrollably. The horse next to Hero jumped sideways so that he had a perfect view of his underside. The rider attempted to calm the frightened animal. “Come quickly!” someone yelled. The beast stepped in the direction of the summons. “Tanit has spoken.” “But sir, what about the…” the sentence was cut short by another clap of thunder. “He is cursed. Leave him. We have been warned; stay if you wish to share his punishment.” As the rain broke loose and came down in torrents, Hero determined he was alone. Lifting his head, he watched three riders bolt from the field. Hero crouched and ran in the direction of the ‘cursed one.’ Both rider

A S tormâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Fury

and horse reeked of seared flesh, and stared at Hero with lifeless eyes. Fear gripped Hero and he fought the impulse to flee the scene, slowly approaching the pouch which hung from the horse to cut it loose. On the left, he found feed for the horse and on the right, dates and loaves for roughly two days. Hero considered his options while fingering the bread. Slinging the pouch over his shoulder, he ran in the direction of the horsemen. Anyone with less motivation than Hero would have been hard pressed to leave shelter, but the windâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s fury, and a lightning bolts threat were nothing to his need. He kept low to the ground since low visibility, and proximity, almost guaranteed he would stumble over a soldier. Hero stopped after a few minutes when he heard a chorus of disturbed horses. His steps slowed and changed course to make a circuit around the trees. The riders were on the verge of losing control of the terrified horses who were attempting to tear themselves free of their handlers. Every trick was being used to keep the horses mind from the storm. Food, pain, threats and entreaties distracted the animals for precious seconds, until the terror of the storm would again plunge them into panic. Roughly fifty men formed a wide circle, their saddles gathered in the middle. Hero took a deep breath, straightened himself and walked directly into their midst. None of the riders noticed or cared enough to leave his horse to inquire as to his purpose -- he was there, he must be a friend. Hero opened each pouch, gathering the nuts and fruits in two pouches; and what he didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t take, he smashed into the mud. Two full pouches were then cut

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from their saddles and tied together to make an easier carry. With his precious goods, Hero walked out of the camp unnoticed and unquestioned. The journey back to the cave was accomplished in what felt like record time. Julia didn’t know Hero was back until his groping hand found her curled into a tight ball next to the cave wall at which point she screamed. “It’s only me,” Hero said softly before he collapsed in the sand, too exhausted to say anything else. “Are we being punished?” Julia’s voice shook a little. Hero only grunted, his body didn’t want to talk, it wanted to sleep.

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CHAPTER 9 Arishat A gentle tap to his head dragged him from his peaceful dreams. “What?” he asked groggily. Though the storm still raged, the darkness was a little less dark than when he had arrived. He raised himself to a sitting position. “I didn’t know if you wanted to move tonight,” Julia said. “It’s still light outside,” he answered sourly, dropping back to the sand. “It’s almost dark now.” “We’ll wait here several days until they give up. Then we’ll meet with Crenton and go to Sicily,” he mumbled. “We’re going to Sicily?” “No, Rome. Who said Sicily?” He said. “You said Sicily,” she answered. “I said Sicily?” “What’s at Sicily?” “Nobody is at Sicily.” Hero fell asleep. Julia considered the fact that she hadn’t asked if somebody was there.

a She fed on this thought for the next three days until the storm broke. The nightmarish winds had long since passed, but the rain had continued unabated.

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“I’m going outside, I need some fresh air.” Hero announced on taking a drink from the river. “Won’t they be searching again now that the rain has stopped?” Julia asked. Hero didn’t answer, but crouched and exited the hole. Liberation felt as fresh as the rain which blew across his face. He closed his eyes and took in a lungful of air. Julia tugged on his arm, “Look Hero.” His eyes followed her hand up shore to a band of horsemen riding directly towards them. Disappearing down the hole was not an option as the soldiers could clearly see them. Hero searched for an escape, but none came to sight. The sea was on one side and grassy fields were on the other. Hero doubted the trick of hiding in the grass would work in broad daylight. “Hero?” Julia was already running back to the hole. Hero searched the area for something, anything which could aid in their escape. His feet moved independently of his mind to the cave. As he glanced again toward the approaching horsemen; a beautiful sight emerged over the horizon. A ship was running parallel to the horsemen’s position and gaining on them. “Julia, come!” Hero cried out, running to the waves. “What are you doing?” She yelled back, reluctantly joining him. The horsemen were only a mile distant, not giving Hero much time to explain. “We swim to that ship,” He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the cold waves. “I can’t swim good.” was all she got out before going under the surface. Hero moved swiftly through the waves, pausing briefly to check on Julia’s progress to find her hanging on his coat tail.

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Her last statement finally made its way to his brain and he got a more supportive grip around her waist, “Do what you can, I’ll help.” Her sputtering had to do for an answer. He exchanged an erratic stroke for a deeper, steadier one. Slowly the shore receded, though Hero wasn’t sure whether to be glad or worried about their progress from land. One thing was for sure; this was a one way trip. Their distance from shore was now considerable and Hero gripped Julia tight around the stomach, “Pump with your feet and flap with your hands.” Hero knew that treading was much less tiring than active swimming, but it couldn’t last long. Their only hope was the ship somehow grow wings. Hero glanced to the horizon; the ship seemed frozen in place. “I’m… really… cold.” Julia said between gasps for breath. “Just stay above… the water.” A wave of worry came over Hero on realizing he wouldn’t know when his strength was giving out. The lack of feeling in his legs was now a very serious issue. Julia’s chattering teeth could be heard over the waves. On the next crest, Hero began to hope; the ship was only a hundred yards away. Someone on board saw their predicament and was making use of a dangerous amount of sail to close the gap. Hero had no sooner begun to hope than his legs began to freeze up and his nose slipped below the surface. He released his hold on Julia and used his arms to push himself back to the surface. Julia began to sink as soon as Hero’s support was removed so Hero grabbed her with one arm and attempted to keep them afloat with his other. He once again fell below the surface and pushed Julia up with his right hand while pumping

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hard with the left. As he sank below the waves, he took hold of Julia’s legs and pushed her up while sinking. He then surged to the surface, drawing a massive breath as he repeated the process again. By the third repetition, his arms were moving slower and reaching the surface was getting harder; he knew he wouldn’t be visiting the surface again. His arms refused to obey his mind; he had pushed his body too far. He watched the foot slip from his grasp. As the water drew him to his grave, Hero thought of Renea waiting for him. With every fiber of his body he strained against the depths, and he reached for the surface. Light broke and air replaced water. Hero drew a breath for all he was worth. “There he is! Grab him!” voices shouted hoarsely. Almost immediately Hero felt strong arms. The world swam while faces moved in and out of focus. It seemed the ship was no longer in the distance and he was assured of this thought when his head hit solid wood. “I couldn’t find him sir.” The voice was close to Hero’s face though it was talking to someone else. “You did well. Rub his legs, they are rigid.” Crenton’s face came into Hero’s vision. “You play loose with your life… Take us to sea!” Crenton shouted to another unknown before kneeling at Hero’s side. “You got her back, you did it!” Hero’s lips formed in a smile while words slowly formed, “Of course.” Crenton laughed hoarsely and slapped his thigh, “Take him below with Rimaelbaal before she becomes completely hysterical.”

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The sailor vigorously kneaded Hero’s calves, but Hero’s attention was locked on the nonstop movement of his companion’s mouth. He had been stripped, dressed and wrapped warmly all to the sound of his helper’s endless drone. “…common. A friend of mine also got a leg cramp when he tried to swim around the inner harbor twice. I had to save his life too. I should start collecting on these life-debts people owe me. That might cover the cost of my own ship. My father always wanted his own ship but…” the story of his father’s life’s dream filled the air. As minute details about his family’s living condition replaced the first topic, the one sided conversation proved endless. Hero’s head pounded as the sorry plight, of the little fishermen being taken over by large fishing firms, was relayed in rapid fire succession. Hero didn’t know if his legs would be able to support his weight, but he didn’t really care. His hope for quiet had long since faded and Hero pushed off the ground, “I feel great and you’ve done an exceptional job. Thank you; and thank your father for providing such entertaining stories.” Hero’s legs collapsed. “Don’t thank me yet. My friend, the one who swam around the harbor…” the sailor’s hands began their work again while he rattled on. Hero’s head thumped against the deck in resignation and he growled as his eyes popped open. Something popped in his legs. “That hurt!” Hero rolled his head to watch the sailor now working on his neck. Footsteps answered his silent prayer for rescue. “You don’t look so good.” Crenton’s voice interrupted the sailor’s story of the largest fish ever caught, by his father.

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Hero’s head jerked up, “I’m not good! I am going crazy!” Crenton laughed and relieved the sailor, giving him orders to prepare warm food. When they were alone he leaned forward. “A few more seconds in the water and you wouldn’t be here.” Hero took interest in this conversation, “Where did you come from?” “The gate guard at Cleopa was tripled and soldiers were all over the city. Patrols were being sent up and down the coastline. There was no way you could reach me, though I imagine the security in Carthage is much more. To answer your question, I hired two hands and decided to pick you up since the road to Cleopa roughly follows the coast. I figured it was better than waiting to hear of your capture.” “It was better. Thank you for that.” Hero said with a nervous laugh. “Rimaelbaal wants to see you. She’s extremely fidgety.” He placed Hero’s arms over his shoulder to help him walk, “Did you… kill him?” Hero’s nod sufficed for an answer and Crenton helped him to the deck. Julia was pacing the deck wrapped in multiple wool blankets provided by generous sailors. As she saw Hero, she dropped the blankets and ran to him with a radiant smile. She then burst into tears; he had almost lost his life to save hers. The smiles exchanged between Crenton and his sailors were infectious. Hero patted her head, feeling awkward on seeing the knowing smiles and goofy winks. “I didn’t do anything...” He offered in an undertone from the corner of his mouth.

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Julia didn’t reply, but neither did she let go. She only broke the silence when Hero finally returned her embrace by placing his arms around her, “Ok.” Hero retrieved the blankets from the deck when she finally let go and handed them to her. “We need to work on your Latin.” “Does your wife speak Latin?” Julia replied with spunk. Hero did a double take, “My, my wife?” “Either your wife, your future wife or you’re too scared to ask her… I haven’t decided which.” “Right…” he answered slowly, “Tell me when you pick one. I’ll be with Crenton.” Hero left; surprised she had already shaken off the events of the previous days. Down the coast just south of Carthage, the ship made port and Crenton discharged his debt with the two sailors, giving a bit extra for travel to the city. Crenton joined Hero and Julia at the side. “Let’s get you ready for tonight.” “What happens tonight? Julia asked. “You haven’t told her?” Crenton grabbed hold of Hero’s wet hair and severed a large chuck of it. Hero cringed when his hair smacked on deck. “I am taking you to a safe place in Carthage tonight, after we change our appearances a bit.” Julia became silent and watched as Hero’s hair was removed. “What do you think?” Hero rubbed his hand over what little remained. “You are round.” Julia replied. “You are going to ask to come, I can tell.” Hero raised an eyebrow in her direction.

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“No.” She held her chin high and looked to shore. Hero and Crenton exchanged a knowing glance. “Why can’t I go to Sicily with you?” You can drop me off there.” Crenton laughed and handed Hero two sacks. “I’m going to Rome, and it will be dangerous…” Hero rubbed her head. “Stuff these in.” he handed her the two sacks of grain and a strip of cloth. “You need to look older.” Julia refused to touch the bags, clearly insulted. “Fine, it’s your life… well, mine too. I hope your conscience is satisfied when I am dead and you are captured.” He winked at Crenton when she took the offered enhancement. “Tie your hair up too.” Crenton handed him a freshly sharpened knife. “I told you she wouldn’t like it. Be careful, they are going to be everywhere.” “They won’t be as vigilant coming from the other side of Carthage,” Hero could tell Crenton wasn’t convinced by his carefree answer. “We should be going.” His eyes scanned the clouds above, “I would give a lot for another storm.” “Make one,” Crenton replied as Julia reappeared with her newly shaped body. “This might work,” He remarked as his eyes finished their evaluating sweep. Julia’s wore a sheepish grin when she regained deck with her post-adolescent body which stayed with her until the signal was given for their departure. As Hero’s aspect became grim and purposeful, Julia’s imitated. Her eyes became thoughtful as the danger sunk in, removing all delight at being the center of attention. Hero could tell his concern was transferring to the others. Every few minutes Crenton approached to

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inspect his disguise and offer a friendly word of encouragement. Hero tried to shake the foreboding which gripped his mind by sharpening his knife. One last task remained before departure. Hero grabbed another course bag of grain and rubbed it vigorously over his face and lower body so that he was scored and raw. Land was hot and uninviting after the relative safety on board ship. Crenton gave one last wave from the deck twenty five feet out in the water. Julia cast an apprehensive glance between Hero and the ship, “Are you worried?” “We just need to be smart,” he knew his attempt at confidence failed miserably. The walls of the city rose in the distance and it was an hour before they skirted far outside to approach from the western side to gain what little surprise was possible. They passed a caravan delivering hay to the city stables while heading for the gates. There wasn’t much sunlight left in the day. The clop-clop of horses behind alerted Hero to the horsemen before they unceremoniously forced them to the grassy verge. As the last two passed, one turned in his saddle, pulling his horse to a stop, followed by his companion. Both stared directly at Hero and Julia. A short animated conversation followed between the two. The second violently shook his head, punched his friend’s arm and continued for the gate. The first followed. Hero exhaled, continuing toward the gate. The encounter heightened his perception of being constantly watched. Julia followed his lead, implicitly trusting his judgment. The path rounded a stand of trees. At the gate, a large band of soldiers were vigorously searching

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everyone traveling in or out of the city. One of them was impatiently pacing and Hero was troubled to see it was the same horseman who had passed. He grabbed Julia’s arm and pulled her behind the trees before being spotted. “Stay around the bend. Tell anyone who asks that I am in the trees taking care of private business.” He didn’t wait for an answer but ran into the trees in the direction of the smell of smoke he had noticed earlier. A quarter mile past the tree line a roaring fire was burning unwanted tree limbs, fallen in the storm. The absence of people didn’t lessen his caution. Warily, he plucked several burning brands and ran back to trees nearly running into the suspicious horseman. “Drop the flame.” The soldier ordered, brandishing his sword. Hero carefully stuck the ends into the dirt. Hero ducked behind the trunk of a tree and waited. The man reacted late and buried his blade in the trunk. As soon as he heard the thump, Hero sprang and grabbed the man’s head, pounding it against the tree. The body went rigid and dropped to the ground, senseless. Hero ripped the unconscious man’s clothing into ropes and bound him. Grabbing hold of the torches he emerged from the trees breathless. “Have the grain wagons passed?” he panted. She pointed toward the gate. Using the caravan to block the gates view, Hero sprinted to the wagons and tossed a torch into the last of the three. He then sprinted back to Julia’s side, forcing himself to breathe through his nose. In seconds, the wagon was a fireball which ignited the other four.

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The gate watch raced to the inferno while those assigned to protect the caravan desperately hacked at the bonds of the panicking mules. Hero grabbed Julia’s hand and ran into the chest high underbrush, which towered over Julia’s head. The camouflage was inadequate at best, but the soldiers’ attention was not focused on the grass. They reached the gate unnoticed and slipped into the city. Years of wanderings through the sandstone buildings came in handy as Hero led them in and through a maze of alleys. They finally stopped at a small house which looked as though it was no more than a shadow between the two larger buildings on either side. After their knock, the door was opened by the hunched figure of an old lady. “It’s me Arishat.” Hero’s voice immediately lost its commanding tone and took a softer edge. Arishat’s hands probed the air searching for Hero’s face. When they found their mark, they followed the lines of worry on his forehead. “Hero?” her voice was on the verge of tears and she stumbled forward to embrace him tightly. Hero rested his head on top of hers and rocked slowly back and forth. “I’m home.” She stepped back, “David?” “He’s not here.” Her hand rose to her mouth, “He’s dead?” “No, no. He is well.” Hero answered hastily, accepting the offered hand. “Come in out of the sun. You must be baked to a crisp.” She eagerly waved them into the small, one room house. She then shuffled in, blindness forcing her to follow a predetermined path. “Your cheeks are so sunken.”

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The temperature difference inside was dramatic, but felt good. Hero looked down at Julia, “David and I always loved that sensation.” “Before making the whole house stink of sweat.” Arishat was feeling the different shapes on the counter for the water. Hero knew better than to offer assistance, “I need some help.” Her hands had found the water, but they rested on the handle. “I warned you that your quest for vengeance would only cause pain,” A small sigh followed. “Will it be wrong?” “I need you to take care of a girl.” Hero waited for one of many answers, but her response took him by surprise; she laughed. “Hero, I’m eighty-six years old and can’t see. I don’t think I’m up to raising another child.” The brown eyes now milky with age gleamed with humor. “Is she your daughter?” her voice had a tint of suspicion. It was Hero’s turn to laugh. He led his adopted mother before Julia and raised her hands to Julia’s face. They withdrew sharply, “You should have told me we weren’t alone.” After delivering her rebuke she felt along Julia’s face. “She’s too old to be your daughter. Her chin isn’t as defined as yours either. The cheeks frame the eyes well, she’s beautiful. What’s your name?” Her tone softened. “Rimaelbaal.” She was a little nervous at the inspection but it was quickly replaced with curiosity of someone so close to Hero. Arishat’s hands had now inspected the girl’s arms and back, “She either comes from a military background

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or she’s been spending a lot of time with you. Her ready answer and confident stance speak of your cockiness and overconfidence,” the comment was stated so matter of factly that he laughed. She accepted his hand which guided her to a chair. “Tell me what happened.” Hero hesitated a second and began the story of their arrival at Carthage. Julia listened in horror as she heard for the first time of the slaughter of Crenton’s family. Her mouth remained closed however. Arishat listened quietly, though intently. When he finished she raised her finger, “Where are you going? And where is David? Somewhere together and full of danger, I’m sure.” “I last saw David in Iberia, though he may be where I am going,” Hero answered cagily. “I know when I am not going to get an answer and yes, I’ll take care of her. As you can see, my sight is not getting better, neither am I getting younger. Others bring me food and water, they will need to know.” She stood. “Thank you,” Hero embraced his adopted mother. “I love you.” “I love you too. Tell David that for me as well in case I don’t see him again. I’m counting my life in days and it’s been four years since I saw either of you.” Hero faced Julia and patted her head, “Goodbye Julia.” She accepted the farewell bravely until he reached the door and cast one last look over his shoulder. She ran the several feet separating them and hugged him tightly, “Goodbye.” Releasing her hold, she stepped back. Arishat didn’t need to see the embrace to know that Julia cared genuinely for Hero. His smile had

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always melted her own heart, but Arishat suspected those smiles had become more infrequent. Hero waved to them and made his way to the docks where Crenton was waiting with a scowl. “I expected you to arrive tomorrow. This is the first good thing to happen since leaving. Every sailor here has come to pay his respects to my family.” Crenton almost gave a growl but stopped himself. “That’s bad?” Hero asked. “When most think the big storm was brought on because of my lack of respect for family, yes. The rest think I might be caught up in piracy. It doesn’t help that I arrive in Carthage with only myself on board a three man ship.” Crenton shook his head, “We need to leave tonight, no delays.” He stated adamantly. “Let’s go right now.” Hero answered. “Right now?” Crenton asked. “What do I do?” “Push us off with that pole.” Hero jumped for the pole eagerly, since capture in the city meant certain death, a most unwelcome thought. Neither man needed urging; both sets of hands strained to the utmost under the hot sun. If either had reflected for a moment the picture would have struck them as odd; the son of a noble whose hands were calloused from a will to survive and the fisherman whose hands were born with a net. Hero continued poling while Crenton unknotted the sails to catch a wind. “Halt!” the word projected over the water. Hero searched the nearby boats for the body connected to the voice. The command reached them again, as one boat with two passengers quickly approaching by the aid of four coordinated oars.

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“Crenton,” Hero discreetly motioned. Crenton’s face got hard on seeing the pursuers, “Umdal… Push harder!” Crenton commanded. He ran for the sheets which were half unfurled and cut the remaining knots. When it came, the wind was brisk, but in one of its frequent breaks a rope and hook were cast over the side from the pursuing boat. Hero ran along the railing to the rope still dragging the pole through the water. With a single stroke, he severed the connection and the end dropped uselessly. Hero used the side of the ship as leverage and swung the pole smacking the rearmost rower in the head. His body went limp as the others began to curse Hero. The angry sailors caught his next swing and began to tug on the pole, using it to draw near. Abruptly a gust of wind sent Crenton’s ship bounding ahead, jerking the pole from Hero’s hands to lie floating in the water. Crenton ran to Hero’s side. “Pray this holds,” he said hopefully, watching the sky for a sign. The wind played a teasing game with the desperate sailors and its gusts dropped to a still calm. The chasing boatmen cheered in triumph and redoubled their efforts, relishing the coming paybacks. The brief gust had only separated the two vessels a short distance and they were soon pulling alongside. Decisively, the wind gathered a short hard gust which turned into a continuous breeze, provoking the authorities and relieving a desperate Hero and Crenton. The sails moved Hero and Crenton through the water with an urgency they very much appreciated. The followers attempted to keep up; hoping for another break, but the wind had made its choice in the escapees favor.

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Crenton kissed the carved stone of Tanit on the mast and blessed her mercy before setting about tying the sails in place. By the time he finished, his demeanor had taken a considerably darker complexion. Hero eyed him curiously, “Something on your mind?” “That was my best friend chasing me,” Crenton stared at the receding walls of the city where, in one’s imagination, a boat full of men was still cursing their escape. A hand was placed on the broad shoulders of the hardy sailor. Crenton acknowledged the gesture with a shrug, “Just another reason this city is dead to me.” “If you want a place to live…” Hero let his hand slide. “I may accept, but not now. We must sail north.”

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CHAPTER 10 Ignoble Beast The next two weeks passed uneventfully with only the waves for company. Hero had long since become accustomed to the rocking of ships and had begun steering the vessel on his own. “Hero, land!” Crenton shouted from the rear of the ship. The ship rolled to the left and began to run parallel the coast. The currents traveled in their direction, gently speeding them to their destination. “There are no major ports on this side. Piracy will be less likely here,” Crenton explained. Crenton told tales of the sea while Hero took his turn guiding the ship. He listened in fascination as Crenton described the battle of Aegate islands as his father had told him. He related in vivid detail how the heavily laden Carthaginian ships made attempts to relieve friendly troops in Sicily. He told of how the Romans stripped down their own vessels to be more nimble in the heavy seas, and of how five hundred ships splintered to pieces while thousands of men drowned. Hero could almost hear the voices of the men shouting for munitions as the battle raged. The story, like the war, ended with the signal for retreat by the Carthaginian navy which was the end of the twenty year war. He told the history with such emotion and vigor, that Hero concluded Crenton had missed his calling as a politician.

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The thought of Crenton as a politician amused Hero for a time, but soon turned to disgust. The memory of Renea’s father tempered the disgust, but that alone couldn’t dispel the stench of rampant corruption within both countries’ political systems. “What are you thinking about?” Crenton asked. “Nothing important. Just the corruption of men and the love of a good woman.” “The good woman must be in Sicily. That would explain your constant gaze toward shore.” Crenton chuckled on Hero’s smile, “You never struck me as a settled married man. You’re too…” “Reckless?” Hero asked with raised eyebrow and provoking smile. “You seem to be a quick learner yourself.” “You have more history at your age than I in my fortieth year.” A grin accompanied this statement but the grin died when he saw Hero’s mellow reaction, “I meant no insult.” “I know.” was Hero’s only reply. The island passed and with it the thoughts of Renea. The vague information about a threat to Hannibal wasn’t much to go on. He knew Hannibal would continue to walk about his camp with reckless abandon, which didn’t help matters. He would have to wait for more information. A week after passing Sicily the familiar shores of southern Italy came into view. They had passed five ships over the past weeks, but all left them alone. With their proximity to Rome however, the water traffic increased. A very light mist close to shore was the only covering left between them and all prying eyes. “Make for shore,” Hero directed. When they were thirty feet away, Hero embraced Crenton, “Stay near Puteoli, that’s where I’ll meet you.”

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“Be careful, friend.” “You too,” Hero jumped to the side and dove into the water. The short distance was covered quickly. As he waded onto shore, he turned to wave one last time at the receding figure of Crenton in the mist. Morning progressed and the sun rose, which dried Hero’s waterlogged clothes as the sea water was replaced with sweat. By the time Hero reached the gates of Rome he looked a mess. His short hair and clothing were coated with dirt kicked up by animals on the road. The guards smirked at his appearance and made comments amongst themselves as Hero headed toward the market area. There was hectic trading going on, more hectic than usual. Every inch of the vast stone area was covered with buyers and sellers. Hero shook his head at the panic and chaos brought on by the war at their doorstep. With a sigh, he continued to his house. The door opened on the third knock to a breathless Rimdea. “Hero! Master!” he corrected himself quickly, opening the door further. “You are starting to grow stubble on your chin.” Hero eyed a load of vegetables on the ground. “Sorry about this, I just returned from the market,” Rimdea explained, gathering the goods in his arms. “It seemed pretty hectic down there.” “Crazy would be a better word. Fabius ordered the destruction of farmlands in Hannibal’s path and the price of food has jumped. Now, with Hannibal so close to Rome everyone is desperate to store for a siege. The prices doubled and tripled again from their already high point,” Rimdea headed for the kitchen. “Is Julia with you?” “Do I detect a tone of hope in your voice?”

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“It would be wrong to cast my eyes in hope to my master’s daughter,” the statement was accompanied with a wink. “You are making me grateful she is someplace safe. Where is Hannibal’s army?” Hero asked. Rimdea stopped and stared, “Where have you been?” “Under a rock,” Hero answered. Rimdea grunted, “We were crushed at Trasimene. Consul Gaius Flaminius and his entire army were slaughtered,” Rimdea’s voice faltered. “What’s wrong?” Hero asked, genuinely concerned. “I think my brother was there. His master gave him to the army,” Rimdea’s voice was husky with emotion. “How do you know?” Hero placed his hand of Rimdea’s shoulders. “That’s why Renea would bring me to Rome with them. She found out my brother was here and would let me visit in the evenings.” Rimdea paused in his path toward the kitchen. “Now he and Renea are both dead.” Hero patted Rimdea’s shoulder sympathetically as they walked. “He may have escaped. Never give up that hope, for either of them.” Rimdea stood straight, “You sound confident…” “I’ve been in your position. Don’t give up.” Hero gave another brief pat to the shoulder before changing the subject, “I need two sets of fresh clothes laid out tonight.” “May I come with you? There is no need of me here.” Rimdea asked. “I can’t take you with me this time,” Hero answered slowly. “I do need something done however. Travel to Capua and enlist Henteros help in selling that house.

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I don’t know the value, so learn before selling. Also sell everything that belonged to Potitus before his death and Senator Markus before his exile. Keep the full value in gold. I don’t want to keep any physical property of theirs.” “I will take care of it. Thank you,” Rimdea cracked a small smile before going to the kitchen. Hero watched him leave, understanding his emotions. At a knock, Hero opened the door. “Hero? When did you return?” The visitor said, clearly surprised. “Just now, what are you doing here, Senator One?” Hero opened the door further in invitation. “Apparently you aren’t here to see me.” ‘One’ backed up several steps into the street, “I just wanted to see if you had returned. I hope you have been well.” He began to walk away but his steps slowed and he returned. “May I come inside?” Hero opened the door wide and motioned him in. “Does this require privacy?” he asked when the Senator had entered. “Possibly,” The Senator answered cryptically. “Follow me,” Hero led the way through the flower filled courtyard. Hero saw with interest that someone had maintained the garden with the same love Renea once had. When they reached his personal room the Senator began, “All this secrecy makes it seem like there is more than a trivial piece of information.” Hero eyed him skeptically, “That’s not a good start if you’re trying to downplay this.” One chuckled nervously, “Perceptive.” An awkward silence followed.

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Hero could see the Senator was under a heavy burden, one which he wasn’t sure he should share. He waited in silence for the verdict. “We’ve been keeping a gravely wounded man in your house for the past month,” One began abruptly. “His presence must be kept secret for his own safety.” “Who?” Hero asked. “Does it matter?” “At this point I will find out, whether you want me to or not. I can ask him, ask my slaves or ask you. I don’t want to protect a Potitus and without a name, I won’t know,” Hero answered. “If we remove him tonight, will you swear to not ask your slaves?” One asked, having second thoughts. “No, besides where will you take him? My house was used because it was available. I think my question is fair considering the price.” Hero motioned Rimdea away when he entered the room. “Consul Gaius Flaminius.” One waited a moment before continuing, “I haven’t even told the others he is here.” Hero visibly started, “How is that possible? He was…” “…Killed, no, he’s alive. He broke through the ambush with five thousand men and escaped. Many of them were later captured, but three of them brought their leader to Rome.” ‘One’ wiped the perspiration from his bald head. “He’s stronger now, but he’s not young.” “Why haven’t you told Five and the others? They could help you take him someplace safe outside of Rome,” Hero asked, confused. “I will soon, but not yet,” One replied.

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“I would offer to look after him myself, but I leave in the morning. I am sending my slave Rimdea to Capua as well. You may use the house as long as you need,” Hero offered. “Thank you, only Cesica your slave knows about him. I’ll try to keep it that way.” ‘One’ rose and moved to the door, “I’ll remember this act with gratitude.” He let himself from the room, leaving Hero alone in deep thought. He wasn’t alone long as Rimdea entered with the promised clothing, “I had the fires started under the bath for you.” “Thank you,” Hero answered distractedly. A few minutes later he stepped into the hot water; forgetting the fact that a wounded stranger was living in his house. Three times Hero nearly fell asleep in the water before finally pulling himself out. The very briefest of rub downs sufficed before collapsing into his mattress. It didn’t register that the sun was still high in the sky, nor did he care. The only thing that mattered was receiving his first complete night’s sleep in months. When his eyes sprang open twelve hours later, there was only darkness. His feet hit the cool stone floor with energy. The fact that he could feel the stone registered and he sat again, staring at his feet. Hero wiggled his toes, and then wiggled them again to show himself it was not a dream. The realization that his sense of feeling was returning hit him hard and he embraced his right foot. Tears streamed down his eyes for a full minute until he regained his composure and stood again. Hero walked through the house in his bare feet. He passed through the courtyard where he made a small stop to feel the flowers with his toes and finally arrived

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in the kitchen where a dim light could be seen under the door. From the doorway Hero saw a man hunched over the rough hewn table devouring the first of four sweet rolls. The man took a break to stretch his back and drink from a cup before continuing. Hero viewed the man from behind with great interest, guessing this was his guest. With a solid step, Hero moved toward the table deciding there was a time to watch and a time to eat – this was the latter. Gaius jumped to his feet and reached for his sword. His balance tottered and he collapsed to the floor still pointing the tip of his sword at Hero. Hero didn’t move closer, but instead reached for the last roll on the table, surprised to find it still fresh. He bit into the bread while the Consul regained his feet. The outside was crusty but the insides were fluffy with a slight honey flavor. Hero had almost forgotten what good bread tasted like after grinding grain into flat bread patties over the last three weeks at sea. The two men eyed each other silently for several minutes as Hero finished his roll. Gaius spoke first, “Senator One has told me quite a bit about you Hero.” “That’s one way of introducing yourself,” Hero answered, shaking the cup in a silent question as to where the wine was. Gaius pointed to a container across the room. “When he told me it was you who revealed Senator Markus as a traitor, I knew I could trust you. I can, can’t I?” “That’s interesting; you just flattered me, created a bond between us and requested my help all in one statement,” Hero raised his cup in salute.

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The old man shifted nervously in his chair, “All right, I’ll be straight. Will you keep my presence secret? Cesica vouches for you as well.” “A straight request with a little manipulation equals a not so straight request.” “It’s good you aren’t in the Senate. No one could deceive you. How can I ask without sounding like a lifetime politician?” Gaius asked. “Forget you are a politician and remember you are a soldier. I’m leaving Rome in a few hours. The house should be empty during that time. Of course, someone else may take it into their head to use it as well, I can make no promise.” Hero knew better than to ask why a former Consul was hiding in his house. He finished his drink and nodded his head in farewell. The next few hours were spent pacing the house until Rimdea joined him. “You mentioned wanting to leave early,” Rimdea said apologetically. “Yes, thank you. Did you need something else?” He asked when Rimdea stayed. “Someone is supposed to help dress you,” Rimdea explained. “Get out of here. I think I can still dress myself. You can collect some food for me though. Meat and bread is good.” Hero removed his tunic and approached a bowl. He dipped his hands into the water and washed his face. When the water calmed Hero looked at himself in the silver laver. His cheeks were still sunken from his wound in Carthage but were covered by a beard which was now quite full and bushy from lack of grooming. As the tunic settled over his shoulders, he took time to appreciate the feel of clean clothes.

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Rimdea was waiting for him at the stables, “The horses name is Bruno. He’s feisty, but fast. Here’s your food and a sword. I considered a better knife but I got the impression that this one means a lot to you. There were several announcements offering rewards for your head, so be careful. You don’t look anything like you did thankfully.” “I’m not sure that was a compliment,” Hero smiled and accepted the package and reins. “You don’t look bad; just… older. It doesn’t feel awkward calling you master now.” Rimdea helped him mount before stepping back. “Be safe.” Hero saluted Rimdea and rode into the street toward the southern gate which was in the direction of Capua. The guards were only inspecting the incoming travelers and didn’t give the mounted noble a second look. Hero loosed the reins when the open fields had been gained. Bruno accepted this gift and increased his pace for several hours. When Hero finally tightened up to rest him, Bruno resisted the pull. “Bruno!” Hero barked, pinching the skin while pulling back harder. The trick worked and the horse was distracted. “You did well,” Hero dismounted and attempted to rub Bruno’s face down while offering a radish. Bruno rejected the treat and pushed his head into Hero’s chest, giving a loud neigh. “Fine,” Hero said and bit into the radish with a loud crunch. Man and beast stared each other down in defiance. Hero’s second bite did it for Bruno who lowered his head in defeat and approached slowly. Hero once again offered what was left of the radish which Bruno nibbled. On deciding the vegetable was acceptable, he

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finished the rest off in one chomp. Another was offered and accepted just as eagerly. “That’s enough you greedy bonehead.” Hero pushed Bruno’s head away. “Go eat some grass.” Bruno snorted and pawed the ground but he stopped short when Hero stared him down. “Go eat!” Hero ordered, pointing to some low hanging tree leaves. Bruno tossed his mane and moved in the opposite direction toward some tall grass along the side of the road, giving one last glare at Hero before tearing off a mouthful. Hero reached into the rather large sack of food prepared for him by Rimdea. He was surprised to find twelve of the sweet rolls from the night before resting peacefully inside. A grin spread over his face and like Bruno he finished his treat in two bites. Placing his back to a tree, Hero stretched out his legs and enjoyed the shade. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Bruno’s snout appeared over his shoulder and grabbed the remaining half of his second roll. Hero jumped to his feet, “No! That’s mine!” he snatched at the stub hanging from Bruno’s lips, “How dare you!” The remaining bite looked pathetic in his hand, but Hero was upset. He nibbled off the bottom which hadn’t been touched by Bruno’s lips and threw the remainder ten feet away. Bruno took a step back at Hero’s outburst and his eyes followed the bread into the grass. Walking over, he gently picked up the leftovers and laid it at Hero’s feet. Hero was surprised at the gesture and after holding it for several seconds, offered it back to Bruno who accepted it enthusiastically. As he took a step back, a

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thump sounded behind Hero. Looking behind, he saw an arrow quivering in the trunk of a tree. Dashing for his food bag, he heard three more arrows zip over his lowered head. With a half skid, he grabbed the bag and raced back to Bruno, launching himself into the saddle. Bruno was surprised, but jumped into action on receiving a firm slap on the rump. No arrows followed as they careened along the wooded path. After ten minutes of frantic riding Hero slowed them down. “They obviously wanted to steal you. That must be why they stopped shooting.” A friendly pat on the neck followed the comment. Bruno may have been a horse of heightened spirits but the headlong race had taken all the fight out of him, so Hero slowed his gait to a very light canter. At the slower pace, Hero observed the charred fields and crops which emphasized the desperation of the country. He was surrounded. Everywhere the eye could see black ash and stubble gave evidence of the dire situation for Rome. Hero hadn’t understood to what extent Fabius had ordered the destruction of crops until he saw it himself. “Unbelievable.” Hero breathed. Several blackened poles above ground showed where the remains of a grain shed had stood. Riding through a scorched field he found what he had hoped to find, a well. The burned out remnant of the bucket was six feet away in what once had been crops ready for harvest. The rope was wrapped uselessly around a pole. Hero fingered the rope and looked around for something to gather the water. Nothing was left unburned. Hero lifted the sweaty tunic from his shoulders and tied the rope around it before throwing it down the hole. When

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the tunic returned to his hand dry, he cursed the Roman army and Flavius, “No! They filled in the wells!” He wrung the sweat from the fabric and slipped it back over his head. Hero prodded Bruno forward with a light slap to the hind parts but allowed the horse to choose their course. He was wise to do so for within a few minutes a small stand of trees at the foot of large hill appeared before them. The quiet burbling of a small stream could be heard. Hero wearily dismounted and slipped the saddle from Bruno’s back. He led the horse toward the water and began to vigorously rub his sweaty coat with a small cloth. Bruno drank his fill and gently pushed Hero away with his nose. Hero gave him a radish before accepting the invitation and resting his head against a tree. The mossy ground was deceptively comfortable and he stared into space. The sun was gone and the first stars were emerging when he came out of his trance. “What are you doing?” Hero asked as Bruno lowered himself to the ground beside him. Hero rolled into a ball and benefited from the horses warmth.

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CHAPTER 11 To Act with Circumsp e c t i o n Hero woke up to find the entire field area covered in a heavy haze. He prodded Bruno with his foot, “Wake up.” The only response was a flick of the tail in his direction. Hero retrieved a radish from the bag but stopped short on seeing the bag was missing. He searched for signs of the intruder, but stood again on spotting the bag ten or so feet away. As he rescued the bag and its contents, the truth hit him. He grabbed a radish and returned to Bruno’s position, slapping his rear legs, “Wake up you lazy beast. I know you tried to steal the radishes.” Hero took a crunchy bite and smiled on seeing Bruno’s head swivel. “Come and get it.” The horse obeyed Hero’s orders and rose, trotting to a short distance away where he sniffed the air expectantly. Hero tossed the remainder of the radish on the ground, “You will obey me when the radishes run out, that I guarantee.” He rubbed the dew from Bruno’s back before putting the saddle in place and tightening it. Hero reached for his own food and pulled out an apple and another loaf. The apple was heavily bruised but an acceptable change from dry bread. He nibbled it down to the core which was given to Bruno, drank largely from the creek and mounted. “Let’s cover some ground,” he encouraged.

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They regained the road and traveled with it for the majority of the day. The distinct lack of farmers and travelers along the normally busy Appian confirmed his direction. The trees, which were sparse in the plains, became thick stands as the road led into the more mountainous regions. Hero urged Bruno faster, as the clash of metal around the bend ahead interrupted the tranquility, “Let’s go!” The fight was larger than Hero had expected. Twenty members of the Sacred Band were stretched out on the ground, either dying or close to it. The remaining fifteen were valiantly fighting off the relentless attacks of fifty or so Roman light horse. Hero took the scene in at a glance before slapping Bruno on the rear, “Forward Bruno!” By the time he was within shouting distance another three more Carthaginians had fallen. “Fall back my countrymen! An ambush has been sprung behind you! They are on my tail!” Hero cried out. One of the Romans rode to Hero, “How many?!” He shouted. “At least a hundred and fifty!” Hero shouted back, looking behind himself as though an imaginary enemy were chasing. The leader shouted something and a trumpet sounded. The hard pressing Romans were at first confused by the order to retreat, but didn’t hesitate to obey. “Come!” The leader shouted to Hero, motioning rapidly with his arm. Hero didn’t refuse the magnanimous offer and raced after the retreating Romans into the trees, “Thank you!” “Thank you, my men owe you their lives. All speed to camp for reinforcements,” The leader shouted.

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Not another word was said until they reached camp. “There is a large contingent of enemy horse on the Appian. We might be able to catch them,” the leader shouted to the sentry who immediately called soldiers to arm. The leader grasped Hero’s shoulder on stopping, “I’ll thank you better on my return.” He followed this statement by accepting a fresh horse from a standing soldier. Two hundred Romans stampeded out of the camp, intent on ambushing the imaginary ambushers. Hero dismounted and patted Bruno’s neck. A small knoll provided a view of the camp’s bustle for the next two hours while they waited. Columns of mounted troops constantly wound their way in and out of the trenches and palisades surrounding the camp. The sounds of hammers and swords echoed together with thousands of voices in conversation. The troopers finally returned from the hunt looking dejected at missing their quarry. The leader from earlier approached Hero, “Come with me.” Hero obeyed and mounted. The men separated on entering camp as Hero continued to follow the leader into a cluster of large tents which formed the nucleus of the army. The flaps were drawn open on their approach by two soldiers wearing armor gilded lightly in gold. The inner flaps were pulled open by two more guards inside the tent. An elderly gentleman looked up from a parchment, “Eidelmen, who is this?” the man’s steel grey eyes swept Hero’s figure appreciably. “I don’t know his name yet, but he saved fifty of my men’s lives. You have my eternal gratitude,” he said to Hero. “Sir, we need to keep extra patrols along the Appian tonight. If troops were attacking us from behind, they must have crossed the mountains. That

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means they were searching for a way out of this valley.” Eidelmen joined the elder at the map and pointed, “We caught forty or so here. Another hundred and fifty were sweeping behind us when we received this man’s warning.” “What’s your name?” The elder man asked. “Hero Bemman, Sir,” the answer was accompanied by a lowering of his head. “The one Cornelius heaped honors on? You did well Plebian.” The man’s interest in Hero disappeared on learning his name. “Sir, I hold the Equestrian position.” Hero’s back stiffened, understanding the insult. “From slave to Equestrian in a moment sounds more like ‘other’ favors, than loyalty to Rome, were exchanged,” The old man snorted in disgust. Hero stepped forward but Eidelmen intervened. “He has been fighting all day. I will take him to wash up.” Eidelmen led Hero out of the tent. “No one questions your honors but he is under a lot of stress,” he said to appease Hero when they had reached the open air. “How can you expect me to forget his insult? That disgusting implication…” Hero waved his hand over his shoulder. “The Senate doesn’t like Fabius’ approach of avoiding conflict,” Eidelmen grunted. “Even the troops don’t like it. They want to fight.” “Then fight. Who is he?” Hero questioned. “He was appointed Dictator by the Senate. His army hasn’t been destroyed yet though, which says something about his tactics.” Eidelmen held up his hands to ward off the expected comments, “I’ve heard all the arguments against him. There may be high food prices,

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large swaths of land destroyed and Hannibal may still be here, but so is Rome; in large because this army is still a threat to Hannibal. Unlike the sixty thousand Romans already killed. Did you know Senator Cornelius well?” Eidelmen changed the subject. “He was very good to me. I owed him a lot more than I gave,” Hero answered sorrowfully. “When I was younger I would sneak over to visit his daughter. Our fathers were on opposite sides of the spectrum even then, but we hadn’t learned we were supposed to hate each other yet.” Eidelmen pointed to a tent ahead, “That’s mine.” “She’s my wife,” Hero answered. Eidelmen cocked an eye at Hero, “You must have done something impressive. Several of my friend’s were rejected. How is Renea? It’s been a while since I’ve seen her.” “I wish I knew. She lost her sister just before I left her.” Hero accepted a bedroll handed to him. “I’m sorry for her. I thought her sister was already dead though; in the plague that swept the south.” “She was taken by pirates for many years.” Hero’s voice dropped considerably. “I shall make a sacrifice to her memory. Though my own memory only conjures images of the most annoying little girl. I’m Eidelmen Rufus.” He laid a hand on Hero’s shoulder in a friendly manner, taking for granted that their friendship was sealed in the moment of danger. “What’s mine is yours.” “Do you know Ruso Rufus?” Hero asked. Eidelmen’s head jerked to Hero, “He’s my brother. How do you know him?” “I saved his life,” Hero chuckled.

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Eidelmen saw that Hero wasn’t joking, “The gods have appointed you to be our family’s savior it seems.” “Far be it from me to defy the all mighty gods.” Hero’s serious answer was followed by a discreet rolling of the eyes. “Come, Fabius Maximus may not like you for once being a slave, but the men will love you for being a hero.” Eidelmen led Hero three hundred yards further where forty or so men were gathered around a fire preparing their evening repast. “Brothers, drink a drink and sing a song to one who saved many lives this day.” Eidelmen gave Hero a push from behind, thrusting him into the center of the group where he was handed a leather flask. A slow chant began from those around, “Drink, drink, drink, drink…” increasing in tempo and volume as Hero tipped back the skin. The chant broke into cheers when Hero finished. “A hero’s flask for a hero’s deed!” All of the men shouted simultaneously, patting Hero on the back. “What’s your name brother?” “Hero,” Hero replied, smiling at the chuckles which spread around the fire. “A salute to all heroes, present and past,” Eidelmen drew his sword and lifted it to the sky, followed by the others, “and a curse on those who took their lives.” Forty rough voices repeated their leader, with a mixture of anger and conviction. As the smell of roasted meat drifted in their direction, food became the priority over remembering the dead. For a while, conversation revolved around their families and the women in Rome waiting for their return. A discussion arose among a small group about the security patrols watching the pass. Hero did his best

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to monitor this conversation while seeming to join another, but as those discussing the patrols moved to the opposite side of the fire, he was unable. A ring formed around Hero when they tired of their families and they began to ask questions ranging from the latest news in Rome, to his position in society. There was general approbation on learning that he held the Equestrian rank, like most of those present. The meal lasted several hours until one by one they sought their bed roll. Hero waited until half had retired before excusing himself to sleep. The drink from earlier was potent and within a few minutes he was dozing, oblivious to the occasional bang of metal or tramp of horse hoofs. A violent shaking woke him up. “Arm yourself Hero, we must ride!” Eidelmen said, strapping his armor on. “There is a chest piece there for you.” Hero jumped from his sleep and threw the piece over his shoulders, pleased to find it a comfortable fit. “My horse?” Hero muttered, tightening his sword. Calling for Bruno to be brought to the front, Eidelmen nodded to the soldier and handed the reins to Hero. Bruno pranced eagerly on seeing Hero, his mane blowing wildly in the wind. “You’ve caught the energy boy,” Hero rubbed his nose and checked the straps to ensure they were tight before mounting. “He’s a fine specimen,” Eidelmen commented. They rode through camp until joining two hundred others in an open field. “Quick men,” Eidelmen shouted into the wind before plunging into the tree line on a southerly route.

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It wasn’t long until their goal became clear. A clearing stretched ahead for a quarter mile in the middle of which were the remains of roughly forty Roman soldiers. “Fall back!” Eidelmen cried, taking in the grim scene of forty dead Roman soldiers in a small circle with their backs to one another. Turning his horse to retreat he warned, “Ambush!” As the men and their mounts jostled for an avenue of escape, arrows whistled among them like rain. “Eidelmen, look!” Hero shouted, pointing to the trees where horsemen appeared in the moonlight. “Fall back, fall back, FALL…!” Eidelmen’s hoarse bellow was cut short by an arrow under the arm. Hero grabbed his slumped body and heaved him onto Bruno. As he settled Eidelmen’s body across the pommel, the butt of a spear caught Hero under the chin, lifting him from his saddle to the ground. Hero had the wind knocked out and Eidelmen slid from Bruno’s back while Bruno bit the horse next to him. Bruno’s hooves rose and thrust in the direction of another, slashing a gash along his side and breaking the rider’s leg in the process. Hero leapt in front of Bruno as a Carthaginian spearman took aim. The white armor of the Sacred Band surrounded him in the moonlight. Spears waved menacingly, as the soldier with the broken leg goaded them to finish off both the demon horse and its rider. Their leader shouted from the thicket and they turned as he rode up clearly agitated at the delay of five of his men. Entero entered the clearing he shouted over the wind, “Hero! -- Stand down!” He yelled to the men. “Don’t kill us!” Hero shouted in Latin, pointing at the form of Eidelmen on the ground.

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Entero didn’t understand the deception, but didn’t question Hero. “Yuleno, ensure he reaches camp and no one speaks with him! This is your priority,” Entero gave one last questioning glance to Hero and rode after the rest of his troops. The Carthaginian soldiers stared at each other in disbelief. The one Entero had called Yuleno moved first, prodding Hero toward Bruno. Hero instead picked up Eidelmen from the dirt as the first drops of rain fell. “No, only yourself,” Yuleno ordered him, pointing at Eidelmen and then the dirt to explain his words. “Be silent and follow your orders.” Hero yelled back in Latin, ignoring the order and placing Eidelmen on the front of the saddle. “Do we tie his hands or leave him free?” One of the others asked. “Don’t be a fool Pullit. Entero must know him somehow,” another answered. “You two ride beside him with swords drawn. If he tries to escape, cut him down,” Yuleno settled the question. “We could just cut him down now and say he tried to escape,” the first spoke again, moving just a little closer to Hero with his sword. “You are an idiot Pullit. Entero isn’t an idiot,” Yuleno replied, grabbing Hero’s reins and leading him through the field. As they rode, the drizzle of rain turned to a downpour. The rain ended suddenly for a brief moment and Hero could feel the edge of the storm. The soldiers didn’t display the least bit of surprise at this phenomenon, much to Hero’s astonishment. A few seconds later and they were back in the midst of it.

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The brief ride brought Hero to the camp and soon he was standing inside a dry tent while two sentries stood guard outside. Hero immediately set to work on Eidelmen’s wound, becoming hopeful on finding it was more blood than substance. The leather strap binding Eidelmen’s armor had absorbed the brunt of the arrows force so that only the tip had penetrated the surface of the skin. Hero gently wiggled the arrow free and bound the wound. Eidelmen gasped and jerked from his state of unconsciousness. “Hero,” he murmured after glancing wildly around. “Where are we?” “We are prisoners,” Hero pushed Eidelmen’s head down. “Rest, you’ve taken a good one.” “Yeah, I can feel it.” Eidelmen winked, sighed and felt the bandages, “Nice and tight, thanks. Tell them you are a Roman ally, not Roman yourself or it is certain death for you.” Hero didn’t answer as the flaps of the tent were ripped back and his arms were grabbed. Hero was dragged from the tent into the mud before he could gather his feet under him. He was hauled through camp and unceremoniously shoved into a tent and onto the ground. Three feeble candles illuminated an unknown face before him. Hannibal entered right after Hero and brushed past him, accepting a slave’s assistance in removing his armor. “What are you doing here Hero?” Hero was taken aback at the brusque manner of his question, “Senator Thimrel told me someone close to you planned your assassination.” Hannibal stretched his arms which were now free of the constricting metal. “Was that before or after you

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murdered Thimrel in his own home? Then you are captured with the enemy. I suppose I should ask if you are the assassin.” “I am no assassin! I was forced to travel with the Romans when I intervened to save our troops from being overwhelmed.” Hero’s voice rose in surprise. “No, you are worse! You did damage where I can’t stop it!” Hannibal pounded his open palm. “I trust the people around me to act with circumspection. Instead you murder my loudest and strongest supporter in the Senate. Be grateful you weren’t found earlier today when I learned about Thimrel’s death. Your past services would most certainly have been forgotten.” “Thimrel took what wasn’t his, murdering a fisherman’s entire family in the process. He received his justice. It even came in a package he would recognize, a knife.” Hero noticed Hannibal’s slave disappear out the other side of the tent. “This is not a difficult concept: Thimrel was the leader of our support, and you killed him!” Hannibal answered, exasperated at Hero’s lack of comprehension. “Why don’t you understand that it’s easier to mouth words of support in the safety of your home than to fight while lacking comfort in a foreign country? Nemalbaal Malbar acted on your orders until his murder, leaving a daughter alone in the world. This same daughter was then taken by another who speaks on your orders. Are you saying her life is worthless compared to Thimrel’s support? It’s clear to me who takes precedence.” Hannibal grunted, “Your actions are irrecoverable either way. Thimrel was the catalyst for timely reinforcements being brought here. I trusted you to show discretion in your actions. Instead of doing that you kill

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an ally for a thirteen year old girl you have a fancy for. Now the peace party will get a reprieve.” Hannibal was still upset, but paused to collect himself, “Several months ago a Roman approached us claiming he could throw the war in our favor. I almost had him executed but Entero suggested otherwise. The man ended up being legitimate. He fed information to the Romans which led to their slaughter at Trasimene. There was a price however. He wanted to ensure that Gaius Flaminius was killed in the fighting. We fought, and we won, but his body was never found. Find the Consul in Rome,” Hannibal ordered. “And what, kill him?” Hero asked. “Anything more subtle is too much to ask,” Hannibal answered. Entero charged into the tent presenting a ragged appearance. Water streamed down his black hair, which curled past his ears. His inquiring eyes found Hero and he stepped closer, embracing him warmly. “Many thoughts have gone out as to how we were saved. Now I’m told it was in fact you who saved me and my men. We owe you our lives.” He placed his arm over Hero’s shoulder, “You have my many, many thanks; and the thanks of my men.” The cold atmosphere in the tent struck Entero on not receiving a reply. “What’s going on?” “I’ve been ordered to Rome to find Consul Gaius Flaminius and murder him.” Hero’s hard gaze remained on Hannibal. “This order would never be given by a man in whom integrity remained,” Hero bowed low before Hannibal and backed out of the tent. He stood in the rain, immobile as a statue, listening to the conversation continue between the two remaining occupants.

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“That is a suicide mission,” Entero’s voice said in reproach. Several moments passed without a response. “That’s your plan, isn’t it?” he accused. “I don’t explain myself to you Entero,” Hannibal replied. Hero had heard enough and walked back to the tent where Eidelmen lay. Entero caught him before he entered. He gripped his arm and moved them out of earshot, “Don’t hate him Hero. He’s under a lot of stress.” “I am tired of hearing that excuse Entero. It was just yesterday the man in this tent was excusing his own commander as you are now. I am hunted in Carthage and Rome for the murder of Senators in each. I am hated by everyone, now including Hannibal.” Hero wiped the water from his eyes. “I’m tired of these games with men’s lives, including my own.” “You carry a heavy burden, Hero, no one denies that. You don’t have the security of an army surrounding you. But neither do you have an entire army seeking your guidance for how to escape this mountain range, locked in by two hostile armies…” “Why doesn’t Hannibal fight?” Hero asked. “The Roman’s won’t fight! All they do is send small parties to attack our foragers. They haven’t moved from that cursed camp in weeks. Hannibal has offered massive sums of coin to the locals for a path through the mountains, but so far they are all protected.” “The Roman’s don’t patrol the Eastern side of their camp. Their patrols are focused primarily on the Appian, which leads to Rome. Why not attack their camp from the east at night?” Hero offered.

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“Draw it,” Entero motioned eagerly, “draw it in the mud.” Hero knelt and drew the mountain and road. The Roman camp was added to the scene with a box. “How many men guard the road?” Entero asked. “The Appian has several thousand covering it who are rotated from the camp.” “If we could lure the main force out of its camp, we could crush the Appian force before the army could reinforce them.” Entero mused, “Let’s tell Hannibal.” “Go ahead,” Hero answered, standing straight. “If he needs me, I’m on my way to Rome.” Entero’s brow furrowed, but cleared a moment later. “Go see David. I’ll meet you there later.” “David’s here?” Hero asked, surprised. “He’s been here a month or so,” Entero answered as equally surprised. “Go to the south side of camp until you find white banners. It’ll be slightly set apart from the others. He was wounded Hero,” He warned. “What happened?” Hero didn’t wait for an answer but began to run through the mud in the direction Entero had pointed. Three white banners of the Sacred Band stood proudly in the gap between the camps, flapping in the wind, defiant of the rain. Hero found one of the sentries, “Where are the wounded taken?” He followed the directions to a medium sized tent where David was lying on a fur. “Hero!” David saw his brother first. Hero grasped his brother’s hand warmly, “What happened?” “Someone tried and failed to kill me again. We were severely outnumbered but something spooked them and they turned tail and ran.” David’s voice could barely be heard above the rain.

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Hero felt David’s forehead, alarmed at his flushed cheeks. “You’re on fire.” He grabbed some strips of clothing being used for bandages, soaked them in the rain and gently placed them over David’s forehead. An hour or so passed before Entero joined them. “I think we’ll be moving very soon.” He began, “Hannibal was very appreciative of your information Hero.” “I’ll bet,” Hero replied. “Well he thanked me profusely, but he knew very well where I got the information from. That’s practically the same thing,” Entero argued. “Let’s get David ready to go.” Hero wrapped David tight in a woolen blanket while Entero retrieved a pony for his use. They had just finished when a boy ran into the tent. “Master, I have a message.” He stepped closer and began to whisper into Entero’s ear. “I was right, Hannibal won’t miss this opportunity. We leave tonight,” Entero thumped Hero on the back and ran from the tent to prepare his men. Hero knelt at his brother’s side, “I hope you’re up for a ride.” David’s head turned to face him, “I already know it was you who saved my life. I just wanted to see if you would tell me.” “We’re even. You pulled my butt out of the fire, now I’ve saved yours, but does knowing really matter?” Hero asked, refreshing the rag on his forehead. “I would have given anything if she could have lived,” David’s mumbled feverishly as his head tossed from side to side. Hero held his brothers head in place. “As would I,” he murmured. Four soldiers entered the tent and prepared the other wounded. One by one they were loaded on a cart

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until only David remained. Hero picked him up and placed him in the saddle, tying his legs in place. Hero was impressed to find that ranks of white armored soldiers were already prepared for departure after such a short notice. Entero rode up and offered a set of armor, “I believe this will look more becoming on you.” Hero stepped back, “I can’t accept that Entero. You should know that better than me. I have not and cannot swear to a brotherhood of that sort.” “You have given as much or more than many here. If only for a short time, you can understand what it is to be surrounded by men willing to sacrifice themselves for their own.” He pushed the armor into Hero’s hands. “There is no other I would have faith in to not disgrace the position.” Hero ran his hand over the white plating embossed with gold and red etching. Entero dismounted and used his sword to cut the straps holding the Roman armor onto Hero’s body. It fell to the mud with a small splash. He helped fasten the new piece snugly on Hero’s shoulders, giving an approving nod as the helmet slid comfortably over his head. “That beats the Roman eagle every day,” the statement was followed by an embrace. “Only time will tell that.” Hero thought to himself, inspecting the armor again. He looked up to find that many of the soldiers closest were watching in extreme surprise, and some in indignant outrage. Entero motioned to another who led a bucking Bruno forward, outfitted with white armor over his face and neck. “I’m here boy,” Hero said reassuringly, rubbing the underside of the neck. Bruno calmed on hearing Hero’s

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voice in his ear. “I missed you too.” He leaped into the saddle, grateful that the easier to ride Roman saddle had been left on. He joined the others grouped in ranks, awaiting orders. Most of the animosity had disappeared on seeing their leader’s acceptance of the stranger, but a few still cast angry expressions in his direction. “What did it cost you?” One of them bumped Hero’s horse with his own. Entero wheeled his horse, clearly anticipating the encounter. “You there! You will ride with the Numidians until recalled.” The man slowly rode forward, stopped at Entero and bowed his head in respect before riding into the darkness. Stunned silence followed his departure without even the neigh of a horse breaking the light patter of rain on metal. Entero glared at the others, waiting for another to question his decision. “The same goes for any who dare punish one I have honored.” A brief silence followed. “One hundred of you are to accompany the slaves up the mountain. Are there any volunteers?” Three thousand blades lifted into the air. “There is much honor, but also much danger. You will be alone, with the Roman camp isolating you from reinforcements.” Entero waited, smiling when they remained aloft. “Bremble, you and your men will go.” “For victory!” Those selected roared and beat their shields three times while the others re-sheathed their swords. Mingled in with those selected, Hero was unsure if he was to join them. “Looks like you’ll take Pelinson’s place. He is a fearsome warrior. Let us hope his presence is not missed.” A man beside Hero commented quietly in an undertone.

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There was no malice, just a clear signal that Hero was being held to a high standard. Hero didn’t reply, but rode with the others in front of the main body, saluting as they lowered their swords in a promise to bring glory to their arms. As Bremble’s men passed, those left behind drew and beat their shields in respect for the soldiers to die. “And now to battle,” the same man said in an undertone. “And now to battle,” Hero repeated. Entero rode past Hero, oblivious to his presence. He joined Bremble at the head of the column and rode with him for several minutes. On Entero’s departure, the pace quickened and they separated from the main Carthaginian camp, heading into the darkness. Strict silence was maintained for the first mile until a small Roman patrol of twenty or so was encountered. The enemy never had a chance. Only one broke through the troopers, madly beating his horse in an attempt to escape. He was brought down with a spear in his back. The silent ride was resumed with a large curve of several miles around the rear of the Roman camp. No other patrols were encountered and they returned to the Carthaginian lines. Once they regained the outskirts of their camp, silence was broken by jeers at the ineffectiveness of Roman Cavalry. Hero had a hard time joining in the laughter. Rome was not some faceless enemy to be destroyed; it was identical to the city he fought to protect. It had soldiers, and patriots, as well as families who would mourn their loss. None of the others seemed to notice his melancholy reserve, too focused were they on self congratulations. Order was restored by Bremble who raised his hands for

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silence. “Nice beginning, now for the real work. We are escorting these slaves and cattle under the very nose of the Romans.” The soldiers noticed what they hadn’t before, thousands of cattle surrounded them, lowing in the rain, angry at being awakened. Thousands of slaves and servants herded them past the soldiers. Hero rode closer and inspected one of the beasts and found straw and wood had been soaked in oil and tied to the horns. The animal, whatever it was, didn’t appreciate the stares, for it dashed off, creating a mini-stampede before the slaves could get a handle on it. None of the slaves reproached Hero, but there were enough glares to make him understand his interference was not appreciated. The soldiers laughed, enjoying the spectacle. The soldier nearest Hero tried to ride after the beasts, but his horse sank to the fetlock in the quagmire left behind by the angry herd. The others laughed harder at this, allowing the stranded soldier several seconds of alone time before offering the butt of a spear for assistance. “Focus on the task at hand!” Bremble shouted at the still chuckling men, riding to a position in front of them. A small gurgle accompanied this command as his horse stepped into a shallow hole of mud. The men looked at each other before coughing away the laughs. Bremble’s horse stepped free and immediately pushed ahead of the herd, searching for someone to fight. The travel was slow as the soldiers followed the much slower cattle, and nothing came into sight for several hours, leaving the men feeling restless and eager for action. A very wide berth was given to the Roman

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camp to reduce the risk of the herd giving away their plan. “What kind of saddle is that?” The man next to Hero asked, pointing at the curved four horns which gripped Hero’s leg. “It’s of Roman make. The grip provides stability and allows me to use two arms in combat,” Hero explained. “Is that so their boys can ride with the men?” The man asked on learning of its origin. “Where did you get it?” Hero was about to answer when Bremble approached from behind. “No talking, you may be favored by Entero, but you are riding with me. Here is where discipline reigns unlike the Numidian riders you come from.” Hero considered refuting the insult imputed to him, but caught his tongue. He bowed his head in understanding, “I will attempt to emulate the discipline I have witnessed in my short time here.” Bremble’s lips curled. “Be sure you do,” was all he could manage before riding on. “Bremble won’t forget your insult,” the same rider said quietly. Hero considered the warning, but also noted that the man offering it didn’t leave his side. Another two hours passed, with Bremble paying special attention to Hero’s behavior. The ride took a much steeper turn as they began their ascent up the mountain path. Fleeting glimpses of the Roman camp below disclosed several campfires despite the persistent rain. A more distant fire twinkled for a second, disappeared and reappeared, betraying the position of the Roman force guarding the pass. “There,” Hero pointed, “You see there?”

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The man next to him called out for Bremble and pointed out the distant fire. “You have good eyes,” Bremble complimented. “Light them up.” He ordered the slaves, interrupting the soldier who seeking to correct Bremble’s mistake. “Live by the rules of five men!” Hero leaned closer to the one complimented for his eyesight, “What are the rules of five?” “You can’t die without taking five Romans first,” the man answered distractedly, mesmerized by the approaching line of lights creating a ripple effect among the herd of cattle. Within ten minutes, the lights, and the cattle bearing them, arrived at their position before continuing down the mountain. The flaming beasts charged down the mountainside in a wild frenzy with the slaves following the animals at a run. The Roman camp disappeared in a wash of light, while in the near vicinity eerie shadows flickered in the trees. A few minutes later a trumpet rang repeatedly, alerting the Roman force that the Carthaginians had been detected. Though their breathing increased slightly, nothing outward changed as each soldier slowed in an effort to prove they were unperturbed. Hero was alarmed at the lack of preparation for their defense; it seemed it was to be a game of kill or be killed -and with the Roman numbers, ‘be killed’ was more likely. He pivoted Bruno and pushed up the side of the mountain until the incline became too steep. Securing Bruno, he continued on foot, not exactly sure what he was looking for; just an inspiration for escape. As he climbed, he lost his balance on a moss covered rock, and was pitched forward. He cursed the treacherous footing, and nursed the spot on his arm which had

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taken the brunt of his fall. The small pebbles under foot which grew to the size of man-sized boulders with the ascent, gave him an idea and a second later Hero was sprinting down toward the troops. As he reached Bruno, he heard fighting in the distance so instead of mounting, he continued his mad dash to the others. Bursting from the trees into the black darkness, he regretted the loss of the living lamps which had stampeded up the trail. Bremble spotted Hero and ran to grab hold of his arm. “You cowardly… coward!” he shouted, dragging him back to the phalanx. The soldiers watched as Bremble took Hero’s sword, “I should kill you with your own weapon! At least then it would get some good use!” He pushed Hero toward the front, “Escape this.” Hero turned and pushed Bremble back. “You dare call me a coward, you useless leader? You call this a plan, to stand in ranks to die the closer to your friends?” The remainder of Hero’s reply remained undelivered as a javelin soared over Hero’s shoulder and sank into Bremble’s throat. Those nearby instinctively backed away at the confirmation given by the gods. Hero shouted above a trumpet, “Why die and be heroes when we can live to enjoy the honor?” “The main force is here!” The warning was given as they were forced into solid lines to repel the Romans who advanced up the hill. “Push them back and follow me!” Hero charged into the straggling Romans. The weight of their momentum pushed the uncoordinated attack down the hill. As they pushed too far and were descending after them, Hero yelled, “Pull back! Pull back!” The troops obeyed

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immediately, believing that Hero had an alternative to destruction. Danger had almost crept up on them unnoticed in the form of roughly four hundred Romans who had gained the path on either side and had formed ranks to crush them. Hero and his men crossed the path and dove into the trees as the Romans followed at a more cautious speed, fearing an ambush. Soon the Roman’s were left behind and the men left the trees to scramble up the incline and behind the boulders. “Now what?” One of them managed to ask when his breath returned. “Nothing more than what you are trained and capable of -- discipline.” Hero spoke calmly, knowing a hundred men’s hopes rested on his delivery. “Spread along the rock line, dislodging and rolling the rocks to retard their progress. When they are close, form rapidly and push them back down the hill, spears first. Do not push too far or we are lost. Break them and retreat up here.” As they dispersed each man silently vowed to do his best for his brothers. The Romans approached, cautiously, searching for the surprise attack expected behind each tree. Their lines were kept straight by their vigilant leaders who shouted at infractions. Hero motioned the stranger next to him to help free a boulder from its stuck position. The first efforts were rebuffed by the mud, whose grip on the rock mocked their attempts, stubbornly holding its ground. Hero dropped to his knees, scraping the mud from beneath the boulder with his fingers. Mud and sharp rocks ripped at his nails and skin, tearing painfully with every scoop, but finally, the mud burped and air entered the cavity underneath. The rock leaped down the hill,

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joyous at its newfound freedom while the others released their own. New hope filled them as the devastation plunged into the Roman force. “Form up!” Hero shouted. The men grabbed their spears enthusiastically and within seconds formed around Hero. They sprinted down the hill, crashing into the Romans with great force. Their arms were not to be denied victory. Any who stood against them fell by spear and sword. The first rank of Romans broke and ran directly into the troops behind, spreading chaos until all fled before their pursuers. “Regain the top!” Hero ordered, excited at the small victory. The soldiers resumed their position behind the stones full of confidence in their new leader. The Romans took an hour before resuming the offense and had learned from their mistakes. Their approach was as methodical as before, but their pattern was wide - very wide. Hero grabbed the nearest man, “If we charge again, they will fold behind us. Take seventy five men and form in reserve. When my twenty five charge, the Romans will follow behind us. You follow behind the Romans.” Hero made him repeat the instructions before setting him to his task. The remaining twenty five men formed around Hero for the initial assault. The rocks were loosed for what little damage could be gained and Hero charged with his twenty five men. The enemy center broke before the twenty-five Carthaginians and the Roman flanks wrapped behind with a shout of exultation, but the shout was short lived. The Carthaginian reserve fell on their rear, hacking at the

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Romans whose chance for vengeance slipped away and whose tarnished honor remained in tatters as they ran. “Back to the top!” Hero pointed to the rocks. They trudged their way back up and collapsed on the ground, exhausted from the brief, though frantic fighting. “I need four of the fastest runners.” Hero waited until four stepped forward, “Take off your armor,” he ordered. “We need to know what they are planning. Two of you go all the way down and view from the tree line. If you see anything, return as far as the next two, who will wait midway as a relay.” They nodded and dove into the shadows. Someone spoke from the right, “Shouldn’t we send for reinforcements?” “If there are reinforcements coming, they have already been dispatched. If not, it is too late to send,” Hero replied, leaning against a tree for support. The others followed his example and rested. Only a short time passed when one of the runners found Hero. “Another five hundred or so just showed up though the main army is nowhere to be seen.” He bowed his head and went back down. “Let’s hope they aren’t at the pass or this whole ruse is for nothing…” Hero mumbled, “…all this effort will have been for nothing.” Two hours passed and the grey light of morning had entered the sky when all four runners returned out of breath with the last pulling Bruno. “They’re coming; probably fifteen hundred or more. They have split into two columns. Each group has three lines.” “They are using their numbers to advantage. No matter which group we attack, the other will continue

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forward and control our position. We must surprise at least one side or they will crush us.” Hero patted Bruno’s nose, took hold of the reins and led the way to a position in the rocks. “Prepare as many rocks as possible to be loosed together. One rock per man would be ideal.” Their confidence in Hero set them to work as each of the hundred men picked a rock to energetically carve from the dirt. Twenty minutes passed and the Roman trumpets sounded. “Take cover,” Hero said hoarsely, hiding Bruno behind a cluster of large rocks. “Don’t let yourself be seen until they are within fifty feet. One man’s mistake is every man’s death.” This reminder sobered their spirits and they waited behind their respective rocks. Hero peeked to watch the eagle advance. He desperately wanted to push his stone and follow behind, screaming and waving his sword in defiance. A hundred eyes watched him, patiently and with expectation, hoping that his signal would lead to survival. Hero calmed his breathing and relaxed his muscles. When the eagle was fifty feet away, he crouched and began to push the stone, imitated immediately by the others. The stones pulled free and bounced toward the enemy, who realized too late their proximity to danger. The first ranks were decimated by the attack and the second and third danced to avoid the same fate. The Carthaginians banded together and as one charged the survivors, plowing through their broken lines. This time they didn’t stop but followed the Romans all the way down the mountain until they reached the same path they’d arrived on the night before.

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“Keep after them! They must not regroup!” Hero shouted, putting every muscle of his body to the task. Hero didn’t know if fear was a greater motivator than desperation, or if he and the others were just tired, but the Romans outpaced them and soon disappeared. Hero stopped himself, using a nearby tree for support. When the others stopped as well, they looked at each other, breathing deeply of the crisp morning air. A single laugh broke the awkward scene which was joined by a hundred voices. The mere audacity of their actions in taking on a force over ten times their own tickled their pride, giving them new energy. “What now?” One of those closest asked of Hero. Hero didn’t reply as a trumpet behind them answered. He pointed down the hill and they began to run. They hadn’t gone far before they came to an abrupt halt. The Romans had regrouped and were waiting ahead. “Form up,” Hero heaved, drawing his sword. They lined up and awaited his command to advance. Hero took one look behind and feared what he saw. Another Roman force was forming behind them, anticipating the conflict ahead. “This may be the end of the race for us. Hit the left corner and try to break through.” A hundred men wearing the white of Carthage’s pride marched ever so slight to the left, directly into the eagle of Rome. Neither side raised a war cry, leaving the eerie morning silence intact. Only the clank of armor and tread of the march broke the tranquility. When they were twenty feet from impact, a chorus of savage howls erupted and the Roman lines shattered from behind. As Hero and the others watched, several thousand Libyan spearmen, wearing nothing more than leather leggings, drove right up the middle.

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A trumpet sounded behind Hero and the force increased their speed to help their friends. “The Libyans aren’t going to steal the glory from us today!” Someone yelled near Hero. The band faced the coming threat and dug their feet into the dirt, preparing for impact. The impact came, and it was heavy, but the Libyans circled around the Romans and attacked from all sides. The Romans broke and scrambled desperately up the hill, away from destruction. The Libyans chased the Romans, brutally dispatching any caught. “Let’s keep moving. I don’t want to watch this,” Hero voiced. Several others grunted in agreement, not enjoying the spectacle. A quick pace was maintained for several hours; with large birth being given to the main Roman camp below, until they were through the pass where they joined the Carthaginian army. No grand celebration awaited them on entering, only curious stares from Numidians and bare-chested Gauls digging trenches around camp. As they crossed the short distance to their white flags however, their march tightened and heads were held high. Stragglers saw them first and disappeared to tell everyone else. Before they had reached the standard of the Sacred Band, two thousand had gathered in ranks to welcome home the warriors. The one hundred held their swords high, proclaiming their oath fulfilled and glory gained. Those opposite reacted enthusiastically by surging around their friends and taking them off one by one to hear their story. Hero declined a hundred

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offers of wine and ducked out of the group, searching for a water source. Entero came running from the main camp on receiving the news. He saw Hero alone and jogged to meet him. “You fool, I give you armor and you immediately join another suicide mission. I found out you had joined them this morning when David asked for you. I called you a fool then too.” Entero shook his head, “You fool.” The last was followed by a chuckle. “What happened? It was hoped, but not expected that you all would survive.” “I hope you don’t mind getting your story from another. I can barely talk and I need a place to bathe,” Hero said in a hoarse voice as proof of the claim. “My men just finished bathing their horses and now the Numidians are doing theirs. Unless you want to be bathing in who-knows-what, you’ll probably want to go upstream,” Entero’s nodded in the easterly direction. “How is David?” Hero asked, though it came out as a rasp. “From the travel, he’s fine. Though, I tried to avoid him when I learned you had disappeared, but he figured it out. Of course with you it’s not hard -- his words, ‘He’s gone again?’ pretty much sum you up. This is a good spot,” Entero indicated a bend in the river. “I must head back and see my men. I’ll see you soon though.” Hero took his time in the water, nursing his hands for several minutes where the mud had split the nails to the quick and turned them a deep blue. It was only after an hour had passed and every spec of mud and blood had been removed that he headed back. He found the survivors donning their freshly cleaned armor.

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As one they faced Hero and saluted before resuming their tasks. Several approached with questioning looks on their faces, “Why aren’t you preparing for the tonight? There’s a big feast in our honor. Hannibal is to speak of our action to the army.” They took Hero’s armor from his grip to clean it. “Go get a fresh tunic.” Entero approached from behind, “Come with me Hero,” he said quietly. Hero followed him some distance from the camp and waited. “Hannibal has ordered you to begin for Rome tonight. I don’t know what to say…” His shuffled his feet not enjoying the task. Hero didn’t respond, but watched some birds chase each other through the grass. “I understand,” he answered softly. “I’m sorry Hero. I tried to talk…” Entero began but was silenced by Hero placing his hand on his arm. “I thank you for your kindness Entero, I‘ll go.” Hero sighed. “Have you heard your new title?” Entero offered a little more energetically. “No.” “The men are calling you the ‘Son of Hannibal’.” “They behaved with honor,” Hero replied. He made his way back to camp, too tired to feel resentful of Hannibal’s order, though the dishonor of it stung. He joined the others laughing in high spirits and attempted to join in the banter. The smiles came with difficulty however and he soon excused himself to visit David. “You seem down having won more glory for yourself in two day than I in as many months.” David was pale, but otherwise coherent. “There are celebrations to prepare for. Why are you here?”

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“I have been ordered back to Rome tonight. Hannibal wants me to murder someone for him,” Hero didn’t soften the brutality of the order. “Surely not, even I have heard what you did out there, and I’m stuck in here. Actually, it’s kind of funny. They keep mentioning you, but don’t know your name. It seems you’ve been labeled ‘Son of Hannibal’.” David chuckled. “I leave tonight David,” Hero repeated, “And I’m going to do something reckless when I go.” “You’re in a jam?” David asked, grimacing when Hero nodded. “I’m coming with you. If Hannibal dishonors you like this, I can no longer serve him. This army air isn’t healthy anyway. Now tell me the reckless portion of our escape. I need some action to get my blood going.” “I am going break a Roman prisoner out. A guy named Eidelmen. He’s honorable which is rare, and I like him,” Hero said as the sun faded from the sky. “If we must leave tonight, prepare three horses, I will get my armor.” David rolled onto his knees. “Leave the armor, Eidelmen must believe we are Roman escapees as well.” Hero left to get the horses. “Great, that means I won’t be allowed to say anything.” David muttered.

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CHAPTER 12 The Propositions Hero returned half an hour later with Bruno and two other horses, also having found the location of Eidelmen’s confinement. Entero was in David’s tent and embraced him, “Tanit watch over you, Hero.” “Thank you, be careful yourself.” Hero grabbed David under the arms and pushed him onto the horse. He led all three out of the camp to the middle of a field. “I’ll be back soon, hopefully,” he informed his brother and entered the dark camp. Circling around the tent Eidelmen was in, Hero counted four guards actively patrolling the area, though their attention was more focused on keeping prisoners in then outsiders out. Hero was shocked when Entero appeared and swept into the tent, leaving a moment later with a man who was within. They disappeared, leaving Hero with a clear path. Hero didn’t wait, but burst inside with drawn sword, “We have to...” the words died on his lips when he saw Eidelmen’s face which was a mass of bruises and his eyes a purple hue. Hero didn’t want to know what his body looked like under his clothes. He sliced the bonds and gingerly lifted him to his feet. “Lean on me. No matter how much it hurts, we need to move.” Eidelmen’s head sagged but he nodded and began to shuffle forward.

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Hero forced the pace to a half run, though the minutes seemed like an eternity and every shout from the camp sounded like an alarm. They finally passed the last sentries and entered the field where David was waiting. Hero practically threw Eidelmen into the saddle before launching himself onto Bruno’s back. The saddle seemed to give Eidelmen new energy. He grabbed the reins viciously and looked as though he would charge the camp single handed. The lack of a sword reminded him of his position and he spun to face Hero, “Let’s go.” “I wasn’t going to wait, believe me.” Hero led David’s horse into a gallop on a northerly route but after a short distance he slowed Bruno down. The horse’s normally springy steps were sluggish. Bruno had given a lot over the past days and the toll was finally catching up. Hero rubbed his neck appreciatively, wishing he had a reward to offer. He leaned back to relieve the weight from the front legs and checked David’s forehead, becoming anxious at the extreme heat. “Who is he?” Eidelmen broke the silence. “He’s my brother,” Hero answered firmly, yet softly reserving his voice, as he offered David a drink of water from a small flask. The tone silenced all questions that might have followed. “Do you hear that?” Eidelmen asked, at the sound of pursuers. “Ride!” Hero croaked. The three fugitives flew along the Appian. Hero avoided the stone road and traveled the grass along the side to minimize the impact on Bruno’s feet. “Come on boy, I need just a little bit more.” They kept the frantic pace for ten minutes before Hero pulled Bruno to a stop. Sweat streamed down his neck and flecks of foam oozed from his mouth.

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“We can’t stop,” Eidelmen urged. “If we continue at this pace, he’s dead,” Hero hopped from the saddle and rubbed the sweat down. “Then he’ll have died for a noble cause,” Eidelmen persisted, glancing behind for signs of pursuit. “No! Not this one. You go.” Hero walked beside Bruno, followed by David and Eidelmen. “Go Eidelmen. I won’t think the less of you.” “How should I respond to that? You are captured while saving my life and then snatch me while in your own escape. I will stay,” the latter was delivered with finality. Whether through disbelief that the escapees could have gotten so far, or disinterest, the pursuers never arrived, and several hours later Hero helped Entero and David dismount in a small grove. Eidelmen hissed between clinched teeth as Hero accidently pressed on his wound. “Sorry,” Hero murmured. Severe swelling was affecting Bruno’s right foreleg and Hero began to vigorously rub it from the joint down. There was no fight left in Bruno who merely hung his head and wheezed. “Just make it to Rome and you can have unlimited radishes and a nice long break.” Hero almost toppled from his squat as Bruno swung his head toward him and curled his lips, baring the teeth in a snarl. Hero laughed when he realized it wasn’t a snarl, but a grin and wheeze. “What’s so funny?” Eidelmen asked from his position on the ground where he was attempting to build a fire. “Bruno’s just being an ass,” Hero answered. Food followed, though in moderation as Hero hadn’t brought much since as an escapee access would have been minimal. The flasks were gratefully found to

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have wine instead of water and sleep followed food as the horses wandered for grass.

a Hero’s rest was interrupted by a vicious jab to the ribs. His head shot up to find soldiers surrounding them in the breaking darkness. The red of Rome could barely be discerned through a heavy mist which hung over the ground. “Who are you men?” The leader asked from his position on horseback. “Argh!” Eidelmen yelled on receiving his own kick in the ribs. “By the gods Hero…” His words were cut short as he too saw their situation. “What in Hades name is this about?” He asked ferociously. “They want to know who we are,” Hero explained. “Eidelmen Rufus, Praefectus Castrorum to Dictator Fabius Maximus and son of Senator Gnaeus Menchmen; and you had better watch your foot if you wish to keep it attached to your body.” He angrily pushed the blade which was leveled at his chest before clearing the sleep from his eyes. “My apologies, your unusual position made us suspicious,” the answer was accompanied by a bowed head. “You were wrong to wake us in such a way, no matter how suspicious,” Eidelmen seemed desirous of offending the intruders. “What can we offer for assistance?” “To be deprived of your presence would be enough for me,” Eidelmen answered, lying back in the grass. Swords were re-sheathed and horses re-mounted. “My apologies again, sir.” The man saluted and continued south into the mist.

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“I’m sleeping a little more,” Eidelmen declared when they were alone. Hero lay silent, staring at the tree leaves above. The bruise hurt slightly, but he was very appreciative of another escape. “We might as well go,” Eidelmen’s voice growled a minute later. “I can’t sleep now. Remind me to do something about those guys when I get back. The twenty-fifth legion breeds brutes.” “Yeah, I can’t sleep either,” a drop of dew landed in Hero’s eye. “Let’s hope the day doesn’t continue the way it’s begun.” The swelling in Bruno’s leg had subsided somewhat when Hero finally tracked him down. The attitude had returned however, with a force. Bruno pushed him away with his nose, snorting in defiance. “I will win any battle of the wills this morning. Now, move it you slouch,” Hero firmly slapped the horses behind. Bruno reared with a whinny, coming down hard on the grass. His barred teeth challenged Hero’s order. Hero pulled the bit hard so that they were nose to nose. “I assure you, if you give me attitude, you will regret it,” this threat was followed by a light smack on the mouth. Bruno snorted in surprise but followed Hero’s lead obediently. In half an hour they were saddled and ready to depart. David was sagging in his saddle, but Hero couldn’t do anything more than had been done. All that remained was to make speed for Rome. The towering walls appeared in the early afternoon with thirty guards patrolling the gate, diligently questioning all who entered. One approached Hero who was in the lead and took hold of the reins.

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“What is your name and purpose?” The man asked brusquely. “I am Eidelmen Rufus, Praefectus Castrorum to Fabius Maximus. We live here.” “And you?” The man asked Hero again. Hero wondered why they had to get an angry alert guard instead of a bored and tired soldier, he answered, “Hero Bemman.” “Wait here,” the guard ordered before walking to his superior. The superior motioned to four others and they surrounded Hero with drawn weapons. “You are under arrest for the murder of Senator Cornelius Hereshea.” “You must have the wrong man,” Eidelmen protested and tried to ride into the circle but was repulsed. The man brushed aside the objection and motioned with his head for Hero to be led into the city and along the walls. He was relieved to see Eidelmen follow with David in tow. The ride was short and ended at a stone hut. The last thing Hero saw before being shoved through the door was David’s eyes opening in astonishment from their sluggish sleep. His own eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dimly lit interior, by which time he had already been pushed down stone steps until he was under the very walls of the city. A flickering oil lamp illuminated three doors branching from the round room at the bottom of the steps. The door directly ahead was opened and Hero was pushed onto the damp stone floor. The door closed and Hero was left in darkness with only the light from a slit at the bottom of the door for reference. His hands slid along wall and door searching for any imperfections but the wood and stone were solid. Locating a pile of straw on

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the floor, he sagged wearily to the floor, curled up and fell soundly asleep. Many hours later, pounding at his cell door didn’t wake him, though he distinctly felt the front end of a foot as it bruised his leg. “Get up,” the jailor snarled. “You can leave us,” the well known voice of ‘One’ ordered from the outer chamber. Hero followed the jailor from his cell and stretched his back, which was quite sore from the stone slabs. “Not quite who I was expecting,” he quipped. “I figured your first instinct would be silence or disavowal.” “Normally we would, as you can imagine why. We need a blade however, and you have little to lose.” ‘One’ looked around, “We need you to eliminate Gnaeus Rufus.” Hero nearly choked, “The Senator? Eidelmen’s and Ruso’s father? I think you know my answer.” “Consider your options. We can get you out of here, in return for something you are already accused of -- the murder of a Senator,” One said persuasively. “I’ll return tomorrow morning.” Hero was silent as ‘One’ moved up the stairs but spoke when the Senator was halfway up, “Don’t bother returning, -- ever.” “Very well,” One replied simply, allowing the jailor to pass him coming down. Hero entered his room and slid down the wall to a sitting position, little wanting to return to sleep. Time passed, Hero knew not how long when the door opened again. “Stand,” a different jailor said not unkindly, helping him to his feet. “Leave us,” a hooded man ordered and the jailor promptly obeyed, casting a curious glance over his

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shoulder. The man waited until they were alone before turning his gaze on Hero. “Do you know me?” The voice was raspy. “No, should I?” Hero asked. “What you need to know is that I can get you out of this situation. Does that interest you?” Silence followed. “I field all offers; what’s yours?” “There is a man…Consul Gaius…” “Every time a blade… By the gods I hope you politicians get what you deserve!” Hero exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and returning to his cell. “You are quick to accept imprisonment and death for a crime not committed by you. Do this and you can regain your freedom and position among the highest of Rome. He is already considered dead, there are no repercussions. You can rejoin Renea alive when it is complete,” the ominous offer dropped easily from the raspy voice. Hero sprang to his feet and lunged at the shadow, but was stopped by the sound of drawn steel. “Behave yourself, or I will be forced to use this in self defense,” the blade tapped the stone for emphasis. “You have my answer, unspoken though it is. Be gone.” Hero pushed the blade away before resuming his seat in his cell. Hero’s newest visitor showed he had intimate knowledge on who killed Senator Cornelius and of Renea’s survival. He had no sooner stretched out on the stone floor to consider the man’s threats then more footsteps descended the stairs. Hero wearily picked himself up in anticipation of another visitor. He wasn’t disappointed as the knock sounded and the door opened, but this time the welcome sight of Eidelmen greeted him.

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“It is good to see you!” Hero exclaimed, clasping the outstretched hand. “Has my father not come yet? He promised to do everything in his power to get you out,” Eidelmen asked. Hero took a step back on realizing who the mysterious visitor had been. “Is he shorter than you, with a raspy voice?” “The two things he hates the most are what identify him best,” Eidelmen laughed. “Never point out those traits to him. How long will you be here?” “He came…he offered me freedom if I assassinated one of his political opponents,” Hero answered dryly. Eidelmen laughed, “Now you understand why I am a soldier. I’ll stave off the political career as long as possible,” but the laughter trailed off awkwardly as he understood Hero to be serious. “He did?” he waited for a confirmation which never came; it wasn’t necessary. “Who?” “I’d rather not say, for your sake.” “I will return tonight, go nowhere.” Eidelmen left taking the stairs three at a time until he disappeared from sight. “Where would I go and when is tonight?” Hero thought to himself as he took a seat in his cell again. He immediately began to run in place to loosen his stiff muscles. The door opened, interrupting. “Move to the back. If you make any sudden moves I will throw your food on the ground and close the door.” The grouchy guard was back, and meaner than ever. After he placed the clay platter on the ground, he retreated from the room, eyeing Hero suspiciously. “What time of day is it?” Hero asked before he left. “Why does it matter? Do you have somewhere to go?” A hoarse guffaw trumpeted in admiration of his wit.

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Hero smiled briefly, “I appreciate your attempt at humor, but no. I want to know when to sleep.” The guard didn’t welcome the insult and he closed the door without answering, allowing the bar to crash in place for emphasis. Hero devoured the food, relishing the taste of plain bread. It had been over a day since his last meal and this was not to be missed. When every last crumb had been found by the tiny light under the door, Hero sank to the floor again. He worried about Renea after Gnaeus’ threats and his imagination took over as her memory lifted the darkness from the cell. Hero rose and paced the room angrily, as he considered the Senator’s words. He wished he had acted more prudently and snuck his hand around the man’s neck, allowing no time for reaction. He could have used the Senator’s own sword and possibly escaped. His daydream came to an end with the sound of steel on steel. “No blood!” Eidelmen’s voice ordered harshly and the sounds stopped for a moment. “Sir, come back!” Hero approached the door and placed his ear to the wood eagerly. “Fall back! Hurry! Follow the wall. There are too many,” Eidelmen ordered. Hero waited by the door though he knew his chance at freedom was disappearing with the fading footsteps. “Check the prisoner and see if they took him,” the same raspy voice from earlier ordered. Seconds later the door opened, and Hero’s cell was lit by several torches. Hero squinted into the flames and tried to see the men before him through the glare. “There is no such thing as free Hero; it’s my offer or none. You have three days to make your choice.” Senator Rufus disappeared as the door was closed.

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Hero wanted to hurl himself at the door in frustration, but it was useless. There were now several additional guards at the top of the stairs based on the sound of their talk and laughter and every hour, a guard would check to ensure Hero was still rotting in his cell. With morning came the original mean guard who threw a crusty loaf at Hero’s feet. Several hours later Hero’s second meal was brought by the nicer one who brought a semi warm loaf. Three days passed with Hero keeping time by who brought his food. On the third evening the nicer guard opened the door but didn’t enter as he normally did. After several moments standing in the darkness he withdrew a knife and placed it beside the loaf and began to leave. “What is this?” Hero asked, wrapping his fingers around the blade. “The Senate is busy with Dictator Maximus. Your fate won’t be decided by them for some time. We were severely reprimanded for allowing the attack to be remotely successful and some of the other guards have been paid to deal with you themselves. If you do use that, please make it look as though you took it from the attacker himself.” He started to close the door but Hero intercepted it. “Why are you helping me?” “I served under Eidelmen for seven years in the north. I know him to be extremely just. If he tells me you are being framed, I believe him. Rest yourself; you’ll be on the run shortly I believe.” Hero was left alone, grateful to Eidelmen for taking such risks on his behalf. He couldn’t sleep; at every noise his muscles tensed for attack. He felt and re-felt the blade, coming to know every imperfection. Finally, the inevitable happened and Hero sliced his finger. Simultaneously the bar over the door was lifted.

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Hero threw himself to the ground as though asleep. At the grate of a knife, Hero knew the time for action had come and every muscle was poised in expectation. Footsteps shuffled close until the stranger was standing directly over him. “Justice,” the guard muttered, preparing to push his blade into Hero. Hero surged forward, burying his own blade into the man’s chest as he covered his mouth. A second stab ended the struggles and Hero lowered the body to the ground. Grabbing both knives, he exited the room. He thrust one knife into the wood and barred the door as blood seeped under. Hero entered the hut at the top of the stairs and breathed a sigh of thanks at the absence of guards. A deep breath of morning air sufficed for lingering as he hurried in the direction of his house. Not many were awake as Hero traveled the empty streets; except an occasional patrol searching for those that preyed on the weak. He avoided the front door to his house and slipped into the shadows of the alley between. Placing his feet against the stable wall, he pushed off the nearby house. When he reached the top, he grabbed and spun. His fingers barely held, but with a grunt and a heave he pulled himself over. Hero paused when a horse neighed but smiled on seeing Bruno pawing the ground. He diverted his course and rubbed Bruno’s head down thoroughly. “Miss me?” he asked and continued to the door which opened before him. Cesica dropped the food she was preparing to discard and tried to scream, but Hero clamped his hand over her mouth. “It’s me,” Hero whispered furtively.

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“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, leading him into the house. “Almost, not yet,” Hero answered. “Can you bring Consul Flaminius to the kitchen? Hurry, I don’t have a lot of time.” Cesica nodded and her old legs shuffled from the room at their quickest pace. Hero entered the kitchen and began searching for something to eat. He was interrupted by the entrance of the Consul, followed by Senator One and Cesica. Hero was surprised at the audacity of Senator One making his presence known. Hero stalked across the kitchen and grabbed hold of the Senatorial sash, ripping it from his shoulders and tossing it into the fire. “If you wish to claim this honor, you will leave my house. While here however, you will not hide behind your position, you sniveling coward.” The Senator backed away from Hero, sputtering, “I did not ask for a man’s life on some petty grounds.” “Silence man,” Hero faced Cesica, “Rouse a messenger and summon Eidelmen Rufus. My name should be sufficient for him to make all speed.” Hero’s command of the situation allowed no room for dispute and she immediately left to complete the task. “You must not summon him here. He cannot know the Consul is alive.” One took a step forward in protest. “Your counsel is less than worthless. You would do well not to speak again.” “You threaten me now?” One’s back arched in defiance. Gaius entered the conflict, seeing its rapid deterioration, “Hero, as one who advised that ‘One’ not request a life by your hand, hear me. Senator Rufus is a serious

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threat. His power in the Senate has never been rivaled. The once strong dissenting party joins their voice with his. When Fabius’ term for Dictator ends, elections will be held for new Consuls. He could try establishing himself as king.” “The people would never accept a return of the monarchy!” One spat vehemently. “Even if you are right, he will instate puppet consuls to do his bidding. Then we’re lost, for even if he does not have Senate majority, his Consuls will block any dissenting voice.” Gaius sighed, “I am to make a surprise visit to the Senate tomorrow in the hope my voice will make a difference. Now you understand Hero, why his son must not know I am alive.” Hero didn’t answer right away, considering the men before him. “I believe it is you who does not understand the gravity of the situation. Gnaeus knows you are alive and offered my freedom for your life,” Hero said and speared ‘One’ with a dark look. Shock registered on One’s face, “That’s impossible. Only five of us know of him, not including Cesica and yourself.” A glance passed between One and Gaius on saying this. “It could have been you,” suspicion crept into his voice. “Don’t be a fool,” Hero snapped. “He’s alive, isn’t he?” They were interrupted by Eidelmen’s voice across the house. Hero pointed at ‘One’. “You, disappear. Consul, please put something over your head.” He left the room and made his way Eidelmen. “Hero, my friend!” Eidelmen embraced him. “I am ashamed to admit you were right about my father. We

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exchanged some harsh words over his request. He anticipated my action, and you know the rest.” “Your deeds are beyond thanks,” Hero said fervently. “I’m sorry I must turn to you for assistance again.” “It is given,” Eidelmen interrupted. “Another must be taken from the city before your father can act. If my brother is well enough, he will travel with us.” Eidelmen paced the hall, “Let me think.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Ok, I will be in your stables in half an hour. Your brother is with my wife. I knew she would provide the best assistance.” “Thank you for that among the rest.” When Eidelmen departed, he went back to the kitchen and found Cesica alone waiting for his return. “We need as much bread as you can make in half an hour; also a large sack of ground grain.” Cesica immediately began bustling around the kitchen, “It’ll be unleavened, but edible.” Her hands paused, “You really put those two in their place. Those old coots could never make up their minds until tonight. They only talked of political risks and strategy.” She smiled and began to work.

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CHAPTER 13 End of a Betrotha l Hero stationed himself at the gate to the stables and opened them on hearing horses approaching. He was surprised to be greeted by six troopers in full uniform with three wagons of food. “Ready?” Eidelmen asked as he jumped down. “You’ll be riding with the supplies until we’re out of the city.” “Yes,” Hero answered as Cesica handed him several sacks. He approached Eidelmen and whispered into his ear, “You’ll want to face away. It’s for your own protection you don’t know who it is.” “Face the street,” Eidelmen ordered as the troopers promptly obeyed. Gaius approached the wagon with a semi porous covering over his face. He mounted and buried himself in the food stuffs. Hero finished covering him before doing himself with Eidelmen finishing the disguise. The wagons jerked and bounced over the stone pavement until they stopped at the gates. Hero held his breath as he listened to Eidelmen demand immediate passage for much needed supplies. No further questions were asked and the gate was promptly opened. Hero couldn’t believe the ease of their escape until he heard the creak and thump as the gates closed again. He relaxed and found pleasure in the bouncing round vegetables. After an hour the motion stopped again

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and Eidelmen pulled Hero by the hand into the very earliest of morning light. “I left them half a mile back.” Eidelmen answered Hero’s searching gaze. “I have given it a lot of thought. I want to know who my father sought to kill.” “Very well,” Hero answered, already leaning over Gaius and helping him rise. The Consul removed the covering. “Now you know,” Gaius said gravely. “The gods protect us,” Eidelmen breathed as he knelt before Gaius. “Stand man, I wield no divine power,” Gaius said and forcibly lifted Eidelmen. “I do not need the anger of the gods on my shoulders for accepting your worship. “But you were dead!” Eidelmen looked suddenly pale. “As you can see, I am very much alive.” “Where are we?” Hero asked. “We traveled south for twenty minutes before heading west. You can reach Ostia in a few hours.” Eidelmen pointed out the direction to take. He pulled out a flask and handed it to Hero, “This will help your brother if he becomes weak. Use it sparingly; drink more than half and he might die.” “Thank you,” Hero accepted the gift gratefully. He helped David rise while the other two exchanged salutes. By the time David was on his feet, Eidelmen had remounted. “Take care of yourself Hero. Perhaps we will meet again in another life.” He waved in farewell and kicked up a cloud of dust. The three fugitives untied the horses from the wagons and began heading west. By mid-morning the walls

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of Ostia could be seen. They rode parallel the Tiber River until directly outside the city which they skirted before taking a southern tack. Gaius was surprised when Hero began to head away from the gates. “I thought you intended to sail from here.” “Near here -- but not from Rome’s primary port, which will be watched closely.” Hero continued on, but kept his eyes peeled on the coast for some sign of Crenton’s ship. Any familiar landmarks had faded from memory, leaving only uncertainty. He feared what could have happened to the Carthaginian fisherman in his absence. Hero finally came to a stop, perplexed. They had traveled over three times the possible distance he had covered on foot. “Lost?” Gaius asked expectantly. “We need to head back, staying closer to the shoreline this time.” Hero ignored the question. He spun his horse and began heading back toward Ostia, eyeing every outline in the water. He was pulled from his search several minutes later when Gaius cleared his throat loudly. “Hero…” Gaius said slowly, lowering himself to the ground. “Sit and think a moment. Did the vessel look anything like this one?” he pulled several branches down, revealing the side of a vessel stuck in the mud. Hero blinked twice at the sight, having ridden right past it while focused on the water. A thumping noise was heard and Crenton appeared above them. “Hero!” Crenton shouted excitedly. He looked at the other two in surprise, “Who are they?” “He is Carthaginian?” Gaius asked, surprised on hearing the enemy language.

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“No, but he can be trusted. I would, with my life,” Hero answered. “If we hurry, we can dig out and catch the tide tonight.” Crenton swung over the side and slid down the rope. “We need to dig out before dark,” Hero translated for the Consul. He helped David from his saddle. He and Crenton then threw themselves at the mud, scooping it away from the side with their hands. “I’m assuming that man is in trouble?” Crenton asked Hero in an undertone an hour later. He glanced over his shoulder at the Consul, who was pacing in a brooding circle. “It was fight or flight.” Hero replied simply. “I’m tired of working alone,” Crenton straightened himself and approached the Senator. They were both roughly the same height and hair color though Crenton was nearly ten years younger and twice his shoulder breadth. He grabbed hold of Gaius’ hands, smearing mud all over them. “Now you have no reason to avoid helping us,” Crenton mumbled as he returned to the dirt. Hero bit his tongue to keep from laughing, but translated for the old man, “He wants you to help.” Gaius stared at his hands in disgust before slinging the mud to the ground. He gave Crenton a dark look, “Does he know who…” His question was cut short by Crenton who stood again wielding two handfuls of mud. Gaius held his hands in protest but approached the other side of the vessel where he began to join in the effort, though rather slowly. “Where are we going?” Crenton asked. “Sicily and we must make all speed,” Hero answered in an undertone.

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Crenton wrapped his gnarly fingers around Hero’s wrist, “Relax, we’ve got time. We have several hours until the tide. Slinging mud at me won’t get us there faster.” Three hours later a giant sucking sound announced their success. The vessel tilted dangerously to one side before sliding into the water and bobbing on the surface. Crenton waded into the water, climbed up the anchor rope and dangled a rope ladder over the side for the others. David swam to it and slowly pulled himself while Hero pushed from behind. He rolled over the side and flopped onto deck where he curled into a ball. Hero catapulted himself up the last rungs and grabbed hold of his brother. “I need coverings Crenton,” he shouted. Crenton sprang below deck, halting his work in releasing the sails. David grasped Hero’s hand, “I’ve been worse. I’ll be fine.” “You are Punici!” Gaius exclaimed on reaching deck. He stepped away from his position near the brothers and shouted, “You are kidnapping me from within Rome’s very gates!” He faced the water and tried to jump overboard. Hero tackled the old man and placed his knee on Gaius’ chest, “Don’t be a fool. You go back, you die.” He waited for a response but got only an accusing look. “Crenton,” Hero switched languages, “give me something to tie him up with.” He accepted several strips of cloth from Crenton and tied Gaius’ hands behind his back. When he rejoined David, his brother’s teeth were chattering uncontrollably. “I’m taking him below.” When Hero regained the deck several minutes later, he

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found Crenton and Gaius glaring at each other with disdain and hatred, respectively. “Who’s the younger one? His son?” Crenton nodded at Gaius. “No, he’s my brother, David,” Hero answered. “Your brother? Is that why you came here?” Crenton asked. “No, there was a planned assassination of Hannibal. I came here to warn him.” ”Did you?” Crenton prodded. “It was neither needed nor wanted,” Hero answered curtly. “Will we make good time to Sicily?” “The wind and the waves favor us. If they continue, we could be there in three days.” Crenton directed an experienced eye at the sky.

a The same eye watched approaching clouds four days later as the coastline appeared. The wind calmed so that the surface appeared smooth to the touch. “Help me Hero,” Crenton’s voice was urgent. “We need to get the sail tied up!” He ran to the mast and began furling the sail, “Hurry…” “What’s wrong?” Crenton didn’t get to answer. The wind hit them both in the back and propelled Hero into the deck, face first. “It’s too late! We’ll have to run before it!” Crenton shouted. Hero nodded and crawled to Gaius’ side. He slashed the bindings on his wrist and leaned in close, “Think what you want, but this was no kidnapping. If we sink, you must look after yourself.”

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A flash followed by a loud crack sent Hero’s body into an uncontrollable shake. As he recovered, he looked wildly about and saw that most of the mast was missing, with the remainder turned into a pillar of flame. The ship tipped in the relentless winds without its mast to keep it steady. Finally, the ship lost its battle and rolled, as those onboard were forced into the stormy sea. For several seconds after entering the water, Hero bobbed from crest to trough trying to locate the others. At the top of a crest he saw his brother twenty feet away struggling to swim for the island. Hero began to do the same. Timing his thrusts for each crest, he started toward David. When he was close enough, he grabbed him under his arms, and shouted,”Da…vid, let the… waves struggle for you.” David went limp, weakly flailing his arms and disappeared into a trough. Hero tried to stay with him, but the storm would not be defeated. The waves were too violent to be navigated, pulling him as it chose. The ship sank beneath the waves but the pockets of air trapped inside were released suddenly like a huge sigh and the ship compressed, breaking the wooden vessel in pieces. Wooden spars from the ship popped up around Hero, each closer than the previous. A large beam shot from the deep, landing in a trough below Hero’s wave. As Hero’s swell crested he was delivered to the beam with a rib-crushing jolt. Grasping the spar tightly, he began to paddle toward David. Hero caught hold of David’s clothing on the crest of the third wave. “Grab hold!” Together, they remained floating for what seemed like eternity.

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Quite suddenly things calmed, and the waves turned to surf. Hero grabbed a handful of sand as his knees grazed the bottom. Crenton ran over and lifted him to his feet, but he collapsed. David floated to shore and Crenton left Hero to pull him from the water. Hero pushed to his feet and grabbed David’s legs, moving him further inland under the cover of trees. “Where is Gaius?” Hero shouted. “He pulled a sword on me when you went below deck! I left the ungrateful rat to die.” Crenton scanned the shoreline. “I don’t see him. I doubt someone his age, unaccustomed to sea, lived.” Hero accepted that as a reasonable claim, however unfortunate, but he remained on the beach, watching the waves for any sign of life. After twenty minutes, he heeded calls from Crenton and gave up the watch. “Can you make it any further David?” “Lead on,” David replied hoarsely, standing near a tree. As Hero walked away, he released his hold on the supportive branch. His legs gave way and he sprawled on the sand. Crenton grabbed him and placed his arm over his shoulder, asking quietly, “Can you make it?” David nodded his bowed head. Hero looked back, “What’s wrong?” “I’m fine,” David said defiantly as Hero neared. Hero searched his face until David lowered his eyes, “No you aren’t. Crenton, stay with him. I’m going to see if I can find someone to help. Where do you think we are on the coast?” “We’re probably seventy miles to the west of Messana. I took us far out to keep from the populated areas.”

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Crenton answered. “I’ve only been this far north twice, and that was long ago.” Hero grunted, the one thing he wanted, people, were sparsest where they landed. Setting off on a westerly route, he doggedly battled the buffets of wind and rain, not surprisingly, found no help along the way. The sky was dark, but it wasn’t cold, which was one small thing Hero was thankful for. Coming upon a clearly traveled route, he kept to it and slowly he began to recognize his surroundings. Since he had only been to one location in Sicily, he was encouraged at the proof that he was heading in the right direction. The road snaked along the sea, over sand cliffs and drifts which meandered close to the shore. When he realized he was within an hour of Leptis and Renea, he began to run, his pace increasing with each step. More and more became familiar until the last bend came into sight. As he turned the corner, he stopped and dove into the underbrush. Hero’s heart jumped as he viewed the once lovely knot of houses, now nothing more than ash and stone with the area, occupied by soldiers. A patrol passed, stepping three feet from where Hero lay and continued along the road. Hero watched them with curiosity. They moved as a unit but were dressed in disgusting rags, dispelling any notion that they were Roman soldiers. There was no reason for the Romans to disguise themselves in friendly territory; yet the atmosphere in the small camp of fifty had a distinct military air, down to the patrols of four roaming the camp in search of threats.

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Hero’s eyes returned to the burnt-out ruins. The outer shell of stone stood, though the innards were completely gutted, giving the impression that the slightest breath would topple them. Hero got on all fours and crept around the perimeter until he was behind Leptis’ house. All that remained of the gate to the stables were a few charred boards hanging precariously from their hinges. Hero approached the stable cautiously, keeping his ears and eyes alert. Hands from behind clamped his mouth firmly. Hero went for his knife, but his wrist was grabbed and held in a grip of iron. The man hissed in his ear before slowly releasing him. Hero spun, surprised at being released, but prepared for action. Brucania held his finger to his lips several inches from Hero’s face. He then motioned for Hero to follow him into the trees. Hero trailed in surprise speaking not a word until they were far enough not to be heard. “Brucania, friend, you are alive,” Hero embraced him warmly. Brucania lifted Hero’s hand to his lips but dropped it with urgency. He pointed at the sun and swung his arms in a semi circle before pointing at his feet. “Very well, I will meet you here tonight. If you can bring weapons for three and food, it will help.” Brucania nodded and seemed to appreciate being understood on the first pass. He grabbed some twigs and branches before running back to camp, leaving a mystified Hero behind. With several hours left until darkness, Hero had plenty of time to scout the area, finally taking up a position in a tree outside the clearing where he watched several men tending a fire in a large ring. Brucania

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seemed to hold the position of head slave, for he repeatedly pointed out tasks requiring attention. As the sun began to set, small mounted parties returned from all directions until the camp size was swollen to over a hundred and eighty men. The leader returned, visibly annoyed that he was the last. “We haven’t found anything in weeks. He makes it sound as though another fifteen minutes is going to make all the difference.” One man complained to another as they passed directly under Hero’s tree. Hero waited until they passed again before dropping to the ground and returning to the spot Brucania had indicated. He took a seat in the leaves and stretched out his legs, getting comfortable. It was close to midnight and Hero would have slept but for his anxious thoughts about Renea and her safety. Brucania arrived and Hero accepted the offered sword, “Thank you.” Hero strapped the sword to his side and Brucania led the way deeper into the forest. They traveled less than two hundred paces before coming to a stop. Brucania listened for followers before getting on all fours and crawling under a bush which stood five feet tall. Hero was about to follow when he heard the chirp of a cricket inches from his face. He smacked at the noisy pest but missed, continuing his crawl. As his emerged from the confines of the bush into an open area, he growled, as his hand was crushed by a heavy object. “Come very slowly,” a voice ordered. Hero obeyed, all the more willing because of the cold blade on the back of his neck. When he was fully in, he was lifted to his feet by his tunic and propelled

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forward blindly. He walked face first into a stone wall with a smack. “Watch the wall,” the voice behind said gruffly. “Thanks,” Hero muttered, and extended his hands forward. The area seemed to be a corridor as walls could be felt along both sides. The right side disappeared and Hero continued directly into another stone wall. “Watch the wall,” the voice said again. “Thanks,” Hero said, annoyed. He followed the path which wrapped to the right and then turned left where as a fire could be seen in the distance, “Nice place.” “Silence,” the man behind prodded him. “Hero?” A female voice echoed from the left. “Who?” Hero asked, as he took another step into the blackness. Steps scurried and Hero nearly toppled backwards when someone hit him. “Welcome home Hero!” Renea said, hugging him. Hero wrapped his arms around her and held on tight. A minute later she backed out of the embrace and placed her hands on his face, searching. Her fingers ran over his thick beard and down his shoulders. Hero ran his fingers through her hair and pulled her close. “You still smell like flowers and herbs.” He kissed her gently, forgetting everything over the past months. “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered in her ear. “I can see you guys,” the gruff voice interrupted them. “The fire shows all.” “Leave them alone Leptis,” Vashalea reprimanded her brother. “Remind me to push your face into wall some time,” Hero said to his guide. “Sorry…” Leptis apologized but his sister interrupted. “I am glad you are back,” Vashalea hugged Hero briefly. “Come to the fire.”

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“What’s happened?” Hero asked as they seated themselves. Renea laid her head against his shoulder while Ilsia took the post on Renea’s other side. “It feels like we’ve been running for months,” Leptis began after looking at the others. “Over a month ago, Brucania appeared in our house, sweating a river. It didn’t take much creativity to understand his frantically waving arms to mean that men were coming to kill us. I didn’t believe him, but Renea convinced us that Brucania held your full trust. We left immediately, leaving everything behind. The others in our commune refused to listen and were killed or taken. We’ve been running and hiding since then, never more than a step ahead of our pursuers. Last week Brucania found us again and helped us get to this cave which I knew of. Since then he has brought food every few nights and we are as you see us; grateful to be alive.” “Who are they?” Hero squeezed Renea’s hand. “I’m not sure. Brucania can’t talk and I haven’t wanted to venture out. Two weeks before Brucania showed up, some man arrived and demanded my services for Rome. I refused when I learned they didn’t plan to pay anything,” Leptis answered. “Was he a pirate?” Hero asked. “I don’t think so, he carried himself well. He proclaimed himself to be… Rusk I believe.” Brucania placed his hand on Hero’s shoulder and began to trace figures in the stone. “Do that again, slower,” Hero ordered, watching carefully. His eyes opened wide when he saw it fully. “Ruso?” He asked hoarsely, “Ruso Rufus?” He repeated. “Ruso Rufus?” Renea lifted her head in surprise. “He’s here?”

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Hero stood and began pacing, “His father threatened… can’t be chance. Brucania, what is…” Hero paused, remembering he couldn’t receive an easily understood answer. He began again, “Are those pirates?” Brucania nodded in the affirmative. “He’s the man in charge?” Hero asked. Brucania nodded again. “Impossible!” Hero said more to himself than Brucania. “Does he know who he’s hunting?” Brucania pointed at Leptis and Vashalea in the affirmative. “A small piece of good news,” Hero answered. “Thanks,” Leptis said sarcastically. “No, not because I want Renea hidden more than you…” Hero answered patiently. “It’s because I was friends with him a long time ago. Hero thinks he might not be entirely bad,” Renea explained. “Exactly,” Hero drew Renea close and kissed her again. “Oh brother,” Leptis’ murmured but was silenced by Vashalea who placed her hand on his arm. “I’ve been gone almost a year and over a lot more territory than I ever wanted. I hope you aren’t offended that I kiss my wife,” Hero answered a little crossly. “Wife?!” Leptis exclaimed. “Your wife?” Renea sat upright. “It’s official, per your father’s wishes,” he whispered in her ear. Renea leaned in and kissed Hero, “I love you.” She released her hold of him and faced the others, radiant in the firelight. “Brucania, you need to head back or Ruso will become suspicious,” Hero ordered. “I must bring David here.”

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Brucania signaled that he would. “David is here?” Vashalea rose at the news, “Is he hurt?” “He was pretty bad, but recovering well on the voyage. He expended quite a bit of energy swimming ashore in the storm though,” Hero answered. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” He followed Brucania out of the cave where he stopped him, “I didn’t want to worry the others, but do you think you can bring Ruso to me alone?” Brucania’s shrug was barely visible in the shadow. “Do your best,” Hero patted him on the shoulder. “I want you to know how sorry I am you have been forced to serve these men for so long.” Brucania bowed his head and slipped into the shadows. Hero didn’t have to wait long before the cracking of twigs warned him of their approach. There was obviously more than two approaching. Hero moved another hundred or so paces away from the cave before calling out, “Ruso.” “Who’s there?” Ruso asked. The sound of several blades accompanied the query. “It’s Hero.” Blades could be heard being sheathed. “Come closer,” Ruso requested. He waited until Hero appeared before telling the others to leave. “What are you doing here?” Surprise was evident in his voice. “I returned to find that my wife, Renea, is being hunted by my friend, Ruso Rufus. Now I ask, what are you doing Ruso?” Hero’s voice was sharp. “Not hunting Renea, I assure you,” Ruso answered quickly. “We’re to take a man named Leptis Horeno to

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Messana and kill anyone with him.” Ruso paused a moment, “He’s a threat to Rome.” “Well, the one with him is Renea Heresha, your old friend. How did you even become head of these miscreants? There was a time pirates were reprehensible to you.” Hero folded his arms. “I know. I still shake my head at the thought,” Ruso smiled, “After you were taken to Tralenus’ ship, Copiun made for Quart Hadast. He didn’t get far before Tralenus appeared behind us in pursuit using sail and oars for all speed. Copiun figured out, rightly it seems, that you told Tralenus of his betrayal. He tried to kill me and Brucania, but the oarsmen revolted on learning that Tralenus was coming to kill their captain and everyone under him. Three of the slaves died, but that didn’t stop them; they wanted to kill Copiun themselves. “After the deed was done, they rowed to meet Tralenus, throwing his head onto the deck as an offering. It worked well, for Tralenus asked the slaves what they wanted for a reward. They requested the heads of the remaining officers under Copiun. Tralenus was more than happy to grant them their wish and had them summarily executed. Ruso shook his head, “I’ll remember that sight for some time. He wanted to know if I was your friend. I answered that I was and introduced myself. He put one of his men in charge and we returned to the stone pillar harbor. I was kept for two days in respectful captivity until he entered my chamber unexpectedly one afternoon and offered me command of Copiun’s vessel. “You can imagine my surprise. I told him I needed to think about it before answering. That evening I gave him a no. His answer completely took the wind out of

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me. Tralenus told me he was working with my father on a plan to save Rome. That’s when I understood, my father had beaten the pirates by incorporating them into an unorthodox Roman navy. I would not have killed Renea; I swear by Jupiter’s blade.” “You say that so adamantly I almost believe you. Yet your father wanted Consul Gaius Flaminius murdered by my hand,” Hero challenged. Ruso stepped back, “You call me a liar while accusing my family of treason?” his voice trembled with anger. “I can’t stand for it. Not even from you.” His hand moved to his blade. “That was after he assassinated Senator Cornelius, Renea’s father, for political interference,” Hero continued right over Ruso. “Yes, your father is a traitor. As my witness, I call none other than your brother, Eidelmen to my defense, without whose aid, I would be dead in Rome.” “Eidelmen?” Ruso exclaimed, releasing his hold of the blade handle. “He confirms this tale?” “Every detail,” Hero answered. “I believe you to be honorable. For that I will search out these accusations. If false, you will see me again, very angry. If true…” Ruso’s voice trailed and he abruptly left Hero for his camp. Brucania placed his hand on Hero’s shoulder from behind. The touch was calming and Hero sighed aloud. “I liked both those brothers…” He tapped his fist against the tree bark thoughtfully, “Can’t help it. I’ll be back with David.” He was at David’s side within the hour. “He finally fell asleep an hour ago,” Crenton glanced at David as he whispered.

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“He can sleep when we get there. We all need food however, and we don’t have any here,” Hero replied. “Yeah, I’m starving,” Crenton replied. “I’m awake, I’m hungry and I’m grouchy.” “Good, David, that’s the perfect motivation for a march to paradise,” Hero retorted, helping his brother stand. They marched, only stopping three times for short breathers. By the time they reached the cave entrance however, David required extensive assistance. Vashalea met them at the entrance holding a makeshift torch, “You look terrible!” She cried out on seeing David’s pale face. David gave a pathetic smile when Hero translated for him, drawing more sympathy from the girl. “Stop it David,” Hero pushed his brother forward into the cave, “you sap.” “Who’s this?” Renea joined Hero when the party entered the fire room. “This is Crenton. He nursed me back from the edge of death. He doesn’t speak your language though.” Hero helped lower David near the fire. “It seems I am no longer the only one who can hold that claim.” Renea’s pouting lips met Hero’s. “I won’t complain as it means you’re alive.” “We can begin to rebuild your house tomorrow Leptis. Ruso and his men are leaving in the morning,” Hero’s announcement was met with an unbelieving silence. “The gods be praised!” Vashalea exclaimed, clapping her hands together. She hugged her brother excitedly, “Thank you Hero!” “That’s good,” Leptis said after several seconds. “Tomorrow we rebuild.”

CHAPTER 14 Fire and Water Do M i x Six month saw the ashes and rubble of destruction replaced with a renewed house. The burned stone was cleaned and a new roof was placed on top. The sun cast a shadow over the fields as Renea joined Hero at his seat in the grass where he was watching the waves. “What’s bothering you?” “I’m just enjoying the warmth. We won’t get many more days like this before it turns cold again,” Hero smiled. Renea tried to catch his eye, “It’s something new every time I ask. You brood over something day after day yet conceal it from all others.” Hero laughed derisively, “Perhaps I should imitate Leptis. That guy has a penchant for thinking with his emotions and not his head. It becomes annoying pretty quick.” “Very good Hero, insult Leptis so this conversation will drop.” Renea looked away briefly, “Have you forgotten it was he who protected me while you were gone?” “And what was I doing in that time?” Hero’s voice rose. “If running for his life is protecting you, my actions will be ranked among the immortals,” Hero snorted. “So you want to know of my time away? After I left you in Sicily, I returned to Rome; ‘to protect you’. When I got there, I found your father; but only long enough to see a knife plunged in his back. A murder attributed to

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me.” Hero rose and stepped away, folding his arms. “He died in my arms!” Hero pounded his fist in his open palm. Renea’s stunned focus remained on Hero as tears sprang to her eyes and the word “father” formed silently on her lips. Wind rustled and she spoke, “You are just telling me this? You’ve been here six months, and never told me?” She held her hand up, intercepting his answer, “Don’t pretend this affects you.” She broke eye contact and abruptly left. Hero listened to her leave with a pang. He had considered many methods of breaking the news, but this was never one of them. Her persistent questioning had brought on guilt and then the anger. She had wanted to know, and now she did. Consumed in these thoughts, he didn’t hear steps until he almost crashed into Vashalea. “Renea is upset about your conversation. Leptis is trying to calm her down now,” Vashalea began. Hero laughed harshly, “Trust Leptis to prey upon someone when they are weak.” Vashalea’s head reared, “What do you mean by that?” “Am I the only one who notices his comfortable conversation while alone with my wife? I would have confronted him long ago if not for his aid when needed.” Hero noticed the tiny blush come to the girl’s cheeks, “No, I’m not the only one who noticed.” Vashalea approached closer, “Leptis has never known someone like Renea. She saw past the scars on his face; which gave him a hope she never intended.” When Hero didn’t answer, she continued, “Leptis is not a sneak, but neither is he brave; that is why he resents

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you.” Her voice sank, “You do everything he doesn’t, including risking your life for others.” “This is supposed to be an explanation?” Hero faced away, watching the sun cast its glare over the ocean. “We were hunted for weeks and the only thing Renea could think of was if you were alive and safe. Renea is your wife; she has a right to know of her father.” Hero’s answer was interrupted by pounding of hoofs on the trail. Hero sprinted to the path, drawing his sword, “Who goes there?” he shouted. “Hero, thank Jupiter’s grace, we must talk,” Ruso’s voice was strained. “Talk,” Hero joined him at the saddle, sheathing his sword. “The pirates are being ordered to assemble at the stone pillar. I’m told the assembly is to include over two hundred and fifty vessels with full crews.” Ruso calmed his horse which was stomping the dirt and continued, “I don’t know their purpose, but it can’t be good.” “You found what I told you to be true?” Hero asked. “I searched out Eidelmen. I found him – dead,” a small puff of fog jetted from his lips. “I believed it was you at first, but his wife Lorena knew all. Eidelmen told her in case the worst happened.” The horse restlessly pranced, “I demanded that my father take his own life. He laughed me out of his house with a warning that I only lived because he once favored me. On my journey here, I received the summons from Tralenus.” “Follow me,” Hero jogged the half mile to the house beside the horse. “Come!” he ordered Ruso. Vashalea entered breathless minutes later, having followed at her best speed. “Eat Ruso, we leave tonight.” “For where?” Leptis asked on entering.

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“Vashalea will tell you,” Hero answered curtly. “When David and Crenton return with Julia, tell them I’m gone to Rome. Order them not to follow under any circumstances. “Order them?” Leptis asked with raised eye. “Yes, explicitly! Otherwise David will do exactly that. Where is Brucania?” he went outside and looked into the darkness without seeing anything. He entered again, “Brucania will look after you. Are we set?” Hero left for his room, and Vashalea followed. Grabbing her shoulders earnestly, he pleaded, “Please tell Renea I am very sorry and will explain all when I return.” He released his hold and began rubbing a tunic on the dirty floor. “You were right…” he looked over, but she was gone. Hero threw the tunic in a sack with some rolls and rejoined the others. “How far is your ship?” “A few miles down the coast,” Ruso answered readily. “We’ll double your horse,” Hero waited for Ruso to mount before nimbly jumping behind. “Hero,” Vashalea ran to his side and placed something in his hand. Hero felt the tiny tiara surrounding a female face, and recognized the ring at once. With an apologetic glance toward Ruso, Hero returned to the house. Finding Renea, as he suspected, sitting beside the newly planted garden staring at the dirt, he sat next to her and reached for her hand, “I must leave but I will explain everything when I return. I am sorry for withholding for so long. I do love you.” he finished, and a sorrowful kiss followed.

a The crew was waiting impatiently for Ruso when they arrived. The word had spread among them of the

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unprecedented recall, and every man was anticipating large spoils. However, the discipline which Ruso had instilled in the pirates assured that they would await his orders. Hero was lost among the hundreds of constantly moving men who considered a friend of the captain, a friend of the crew. Ruso joined Hero at the rail, “I was once impressed that father had turned murderous pirates into a second fleet for Rome. Now I know he was creating a personal fleet, not to help Rome, but to control. But that he would kill my brother…” “I will miss Eidelmen;” Hero said, “he was tough. Before we were taken by the Carthaginians, your brother took an arrow in the chest and then he was beaten to a pulp. After all that, he strapped on his armor and tried to break me out of my cell to smuggle me out of Rome,” he said and the smile faded to a thin grim line. “His wife told me you didn’t escape together; you rescued him. I’m sure he viewed his debt to you as still unpaid,” Ruso said as the island receded. Hero felt the ring, “I was done with this war. I’d decided to let them kill each other until both sides were decimated. It’s taken something from me I never understood until now.” “What?” “I once believed people were good -- they aren’t. It’s all about what they can get. Even those you trust in a moment of need…” Hero rolled his finger over the ring one last time before turning his back on the island. Ruso frowned and continued viewing Sicily, “What happened?” “Nothing, -- but Ruso I want you to know,” Hero said and faced his friend, “I intend to kill your father. What

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he did to Senator Cornelius and your brother is unforgiveable.” Ruso was silent for a time, “I understand.” Nothing more was said as they continued toward their destination. In two days, land was sighted and they followed for several hours until the bay was reached. Ruso and Hero at the bow kept their eyes peeled as the ship began the tedious job of navigating the sand bars. An arch of stone spanning fifty feet served as the entrance for Stone Harbor while the overhanging cliffs whose feet had been eroded by countless waves, cast a long shadow over the water. “By Jupiter’s…” Ruso whispered, staring at the armada before them. Seventy-five percent of the harbor was packed with vessels of varying size, -- though the majority was as their own with two banks of rowers on each side. The men on board cheered and slapped each other’s backs in congratulations. “Wine for the men!” Ruso shouted, prompting further celebrations on deck. “Hero, this is huge. The harbor won’t even hold everyone once the remainder arrives!” “There will be over a hundred thousand men gathered. We can’t allow them out of this harbor,” Hero murmured. “Pull under the cliffs and drop anchor!” Ruso shouted. “Sir, they are signaling us to come in all the way to make way for the others,” a sailor replied. Ruso’s answer came quick and smooth, “First in last out does not work for me!” The men cheered at his cunning and obeyed his orders. “What are you thinking Ruso?” Hero asked.

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“It’s simple; I’ll sink my ship and block their exit. They’ll have to disassemble the vessel plank by plank which will give you time to bring the navy behind them.” “I’ll depart as soon as it’s not noticed. Time is against us,” Hero said and tapped the wood impatiently. “You’ll need something,” Ruso stalked across the ship and disappeared below decks, returning several minutes later. He turned his back to the men and discreetly passed Hero a heavy pouch. “It’s pure gold. That’ll get you to Rome quick.” “Yes it will and thank you,” Hero placed the pouch under his clothing. He glanced behind and swung over the side, landing feet first in the chilly water in the shadow of the cliff. It took several hours, but as he finally skirted the surrounding cliffs of the harbor, a steep slope came into view. Dragging himself from the water, he crawled up the hill as the cool night breeze chilled him to the bone. A few pirates noticed him, seeming more curious than alarmed by his actions. At the top, he jogged from the harbor in a northerly direction until a farmhouse came into view where two horses were purchased with one of his gold pieces, shocking the owner on receiving thirty times their value. Hero rotated horses the next day until he felt a rest for the beasts was necessary. Dismounting at a small creek, he turned them loose to eat, thrusting his head under the freezing water to help keep his eyes open. After an hour of rest, Hero remounted and continued north, not stopping until he reached the gates of Rome in the early morning of the second day. Cursing the vigilance of the guards who were mingling with the tradesmen waiting outside the gates in

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anticipation of their opening, Hero skirted the very edge of the gathering. As he fingered a gold piece, he looked for one among them who he could bribe. “You there!” A guard approached Hero aggressively, having noticed his slinky behavior. “What is your purpose here?” Hero considered his gold, but the approaching soldier had the look of a patriot -- firm in his values, proud of his position. “I come to mourn the death of my brother, Eidelmen Rufus,” he said as he kept his head bowed in grief. “I didn’t know he passed from this life. He was a great man.” “That he was, I thank you for your words,” Hero mumbled. “I served under him in the north. You will not be alone in your grief,” the soldier bowed his head in respect before sharply rejoining the others at the gate. Hero breathed a sigh of relief and began shuffling toward the gate with the others. He moved slow and kept his eyes on the ground while passing the guards. As soon as he was out of sight of the gate, he dropped the pretense and made a line for ‘One’s’ house. His knock brought a quick response as a slave opened the door. Hero didn’t wait to be allowed entrance but pushed inside and addressed the slave who was preparing to call for help. “I must see your master immediately. Many lives hang in the balance.” “Wait here,” the slave pointed at the smooth stone floor for emphasis before cautiously moving out of the room. Hero paced the room impatiently, not appreciating the wooden eyes of One’s ancestors staring from their hooks on the walls. At length the slave returned.

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“Please return tonight, sir.” The slave began opening the door for Hero’s exit, but was surprised when Hero ignored him and walked into the house. “Where is he?” Hero demanded, walking through the corridors as the slave hurried to catch up. “You must leave!” the slave shouted. Loud voices reached Hero’s ears and he entered the room to the right, stopping short. He and Gnaeus Rufus stared directly at each other. “Interesting company you keep Senator Gordio. Are you not sought for the murder of your own father Hero?” Gnaeus smirked at Gordio and attempted to push Hero out of the way. Hero stepped into his face, “I have my honor while you have no son.” Gnaeus tensed a moment but relaxed. “Honor is cheap; I own lots of it,” With this statement he pushed past Hero. “What are you doing here?” One flapped his arms around. “You left Rome an escaped murderer and are now in my house!” “Forgive me master, he wouldn’t stop,” the slave bowed low before his master. Hero spread his hands over the table, “I need your help.” “I am done with you Hero. Cornelius believed in you, and it cost him his life. I do not believe in you, and it may still cost me my life.” Gordio’s hands visibly shook as he drank from a golden goblet. “That is because you are a coward,” Hero’s voice was low. “I’ve ridden for two days without sleep to tell you that a pirate armada of over two hundred and fifty ships is gathering in the south. Yes, that’s what I said,” Hero repeated to the astonished man. “Yet I find you acting

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as always, blaming others for your weakness. Perhaps now you will offer gold instead of my freedom to murder Senator Rufus.” “Would you accept it?” Gordio asked quickly. “Cornelius was a fool to trust you!” Hero shouted, pounding his fist into the wooden surface, knocking the cup off the edge. “Will you not act?” He spun on the slave who had drawn his knife at Hero’s outburst. “Put that away or I will wring the head off your neck,” Hero threatened savagely, looking every bit capable of doing what he promised. The knife slowly returned to its sheath. “Their fleet is bottled up in a bay to the south. If we act now, they can be destroyed forever.” “You are a fool for underestimating Gnaeus!” Gordio cried, slamming the cup back onto the table. “He controls the Senate! He tires of this war with Hannibal and so appoints the most reckless Consul possible. We only got the second most moderate Consul elected because my colleagues know that without some temperance, the Republic is lost.” “I tire of hearing Gnaeus’ name!” Hero stepped around the desk and the Senator could see the dark circles under his eyes, “I don’t care, you must send the fleet south!” Hero saw that his arguments were falling on deaf ears. “By the gods, I don’t care how you do it! Bribe them all if you have to.” “One man’s death could end this dilemma,” Gordio said persuasively. “I tire of your cowardly requests for murder! His death would not stop the pirates anyway! They are already assembled.” Hero walked to the door and looked back, “You will not act against the pirates?”

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“There is nothing I can do,” Gordio answered simply. “I am a patriot,” he added quickly. “I never said otherwise; I called you a coward.” Hero exited the room, disgusted. Stepping from the house, he dashed down a side street, as another set of steps followed. Hero flattened himself against a building and waited until the pursuer caught up before burying his knife in his chest. “Predictable,” he muttered as he wiped the blade clean. At a stable, he purchased two horses of much better breeding then the farm plodders he had used before. Leaving the horses at the stable for a later pick-up, he found a lonely alley where he shaved his head and beard. He then ran his fingers through an ash of a fire, and outlined above and below his eyes. His last alteration was an iron band which he placed on his wrist. When he then returned for his horses, he was pleased the stable master demanded identification. After confirming that he was his own slave, he took charge of both horses. The guards had doubled since his arrival and were extremely alert; thanks no doubt to Gnaeus. As a slave, Hero passed with a cursory glance, though his master’s horses received several admiring ones. Once out of the soldier’s view, he jumped on the weaker of the two horses and set off at a gallop. His first food in two days was a small roll which he shoved into his mouth as he rode; it was small but satisfactory. His failure in Rome chafed him, especially when he considered that all that was needed was for ‘One’ to fulfill the position he held and protect his country. His horse was fatiguing so he switched to the second and continued the reckless pace. Within a day, he passed the farm and soon he was approaching the cliffs which

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overhung the pirate bay. He dismounted and peered over the side. Hundreds of men swarmed over the sunken wreckage, of what Hero assumed, was Ruso’s ship while the rest of the pirate fleet sat trapped behind his barrier. Only half the ship remained, with pieces of the vessel being carted across the adjoining decks to dispose of the debris. Hero watched the pirate’s organized method of destruction in which one line of men provided a constant stream of labor into the work area as another exited with their loads, but no sign of Ruso could be seen. By nightfall their work was nearly complete with only the central beam acting as an obstruction. Hero mounted again and returned to the farmhouse where he purchased several clay vats of oil and a cart, which he then took to the cliff’s edge. He didn’t waste time but lined the jars up carefully over the vessel nearest to Ruso’s and pushed the first over the cliff. The clay disappeared into the darkness before shattering. Shouts resounded, as he moved to the next few vats and they followed in the same way as the first. More curses floated from below, but it was too late. Next, Hero lit one of the torches he’d created, and tossed it over. Glancing over the cliff’s edge, he saw two ships engulfed in flames which quickly spread to the surrounding vessels. The tranquility of the night was lost as first hundreds, and then thousands and finally tens of thousands of pirates raced from below decks. A press of men converged on the disaster zone, but it soon turned into a rout as the fire spread rapidly in every direction. Pirates scrambled up the same steep hill Hero had climbed but the fire caught up to the tail of the exodus. Hero heard the screams as men were

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captured by the flames and others jump into the crevices between the ships to the water below. He didn’t turn from the devastation until those burning began throwing themselves on their swords to end their misery. He felt a pang of guilt, but reminded himself of their purpose in gathering. Even from his height, he could feel the heat which was an inferno. The pirates that escaped ringed the cliffs, watching their hopes disappear in the flames. Hero left the edge, prowling for a place to sleep. Finding a small clump of trees which stretched their arms to block the coming dew, he passed out.

a Morning was just breaking when Hero awoke. The smell of smoke was heavy in the air and he launched himself to his feet. Black planks covered the surface of the harbor accompanied by thousands of bodies lying face down in the water. The cliffs too had suffered being charred and scarred by the flames. It appeared only ten vessels had survived, as their births had been outside Stone Harbor. He surveyed the sloping hill’s grass which was trampled to a muddy mess and led to a destructive two mile path where a massive army of now ship-less pirates had collected. Hero approached quietly, but among the twenty thousand survivors, not a soul stirred. Silently, Hero searched for Ruso, but as the sun rose higher, Hero knew he was running out of time. Suddenly, he spotted Tralenus curled in a ball in the center of the field. He drew his knife and cut off two long strips of cloth from the pirate’s clothing. Laying his blade against the pirate’s throat and simultaneously,

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shoving the cloth in his mouth, Hero whispered, “Any sound and you die.” The second strip was wrapped around his mouth and tied off tightly. “Any missteps and you die,” Hero prodded with his knife. Very slowly they passed between the sleeping pirates. When they finally made it out of encampment, Hero directed him in a jog until some distance away. Hero pushed Tralenus to the dusty ground and sliced away his tunic making thick strips out of it. After tying his legs with the strips, Tralenus’ arms were laid across a downed log and tied in place. Hero then built a fire behind the pirate and held Tralenus’ blade over the flames. “Do you know who I am now?” Tralenus nodded his head that he did. “Do you know the name Heresha?” Tralenus’ back went stiff, but he finally nodded his head. “Good,” Hero said and walked behind him. “When you held Melsia Heresha captive on your ship for all those years, you made her your enemy. When you killed Melsia Heresha, you made me your enemy. I want you to know that before I do this.” Hero hefted the sword above his head and chopped Tralenus’ left hand off. Tralenus’ eyes bulged as the sword rose and a muffled scream followed as his hand landed on his leg. Hero held the hot red blade to the skin, cauterizing the wound and wrapped cloth over the knob, tying it off tightly. The sword rose and descended again, followed by another muffled scream from the pirate. “Gone are the hands so eager to kill.” Tralenus began sobbing while Hero sealed this new wound. He tried to say something, but it was lost in the cloth.

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Hero finished covering the wound before removing the gag. “What do you want?” he gasped. “Kill me if you want revenge.” “Revenge? I don’t want revenge; I want justice. You will now be at the mercy of others just as others were once at yours.” Hero wiped the blade clean. “I also want information. What was your fleet’s intention?” “We were to blockade Ostia from sea,” Tralenus said, struggling to keep his eyes focused on Hero. “We were to continue until forces from land could complete the task.” Hero was surprised, and his face showed it. “You didn’t think us capable of being so ambitious?” Tralenus’ pride struggled to assert control over the situation. “Potitus was political, to the point of madness. You never struck as me that type,” Hero answered. “My brother was a fool. He tried to work with Carthage and failed miserably while I merely used them. I was successful where he failed.” Tralenus’ head sagged. “Yes, very successful,” Hero said and kicked his legs, “stop pretending. You haven’t lost enough blood to die.” Hero stroked his bald head thoughtfully. “Potitus began by stealing ships of silver going to Carthage. When Nemalbaal slowed the shipments, you decided to become more…aggressive. You tried to take the silver mines themselves?” Tralenus nodded his head, “Yes, I sent a Greek mercenary, but never got confirmation of his success. None of my messengers ever returned either.” “They were too late. The Carthaginian Senators became greedy and decided to try and take matters into

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their own hands. They sent men to take the mines for themselves as well.” “I hope they failed,” Tralenus said through gritted teeth. Hero didn’t answer, he was walking away. A minute later as Tralenus realized he was alone, he screamed for Hero’s return. When Hero got back to his camp, he found one horse sleeping while the other grazed nearby. Hero mounted the grazing horse, took hold of the other and headed in the direction of the Carthaginian army. A short detour took him by Tralenus’ location, where his shouts had brought several pirates at a run. “Get him! Kill him! Kill him now!” Tralenus shouted, pointing his bloody nubs at Hero as he passed. Two made an attempt to catch him on foot, but gave up in the wake of his dust.

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SOURCES: Hannibal – Theodore Ayrault Dodge I leaned heavily on this book as a resource on the military aspect of the Second Punic War. His style of writing is cumbersome, for he will write in depth about something, move to another subject and then return to the original subject which is re-discussed as though for the first time. What I loved however, is that he gave reasons for his deductions based on studies of multiple authorities. Daily Life in Carthage – Gilbert and Colette Charles-Picard This book too was read exhaustively. There seemed to be no resources concerning life in Carthage, so when I found this book half way through writing Two Spies and a General, it was like a glass of cold water to a thirsty traveler. It discusses religion, clothing, social orders and many other aspects. A must read for those interested in this sort of thing. Equus: The Horse in the Roman World – Ann Hyland Ann Hyland’s writing style is very good, but topic organization is terrible indeed. One searches for information on saddles in the gear section, but finds nothing. Then while reading about the ailments of horses, poof,

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she inserts an entire page of glorious information on saddles. I think she wants to keep her readers on the edge of their….err…saddles. The Punic Wars – Adrian Goldsworthy This is a much easier book to read about the Punic Wars than Hannibal, by Ayrault Dodge. If someone wanted to read more on the subject, this is the book I would recommend. It lacks the incredible research of Hannibal, but more than makes up for it with easy to follow writing. I personally didn’t use this much, though I own it, because I had already researched the fighting aspect of the war. The War with Hannibal – Livy There are two primary resources about the Second Punic war; Polybius the Greek historian and Livy the Roman. Polybius came one generation after the war, and documented the war in what most historians consider a fair perspective. Livy drew heavily from Polybius one hundred years later, but with a definite Roman slant. Several historical inaccuracies exist in Livy’s work, some very big, which makes Polybius the more reliable of the two. I did not read much of this book. Roman Roads – Victor Von Hagen This book is about; you guessed it, Roman Roads. Even comes with pictures and pop out sections. Well, maybe not the pop out sections. I used this book to learn of the Roman road system in 220 B.C. There are lots of maps

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with ancient roads, but many of them were constructed after the second punic war. This would obviously be innacurate. Armies of the Carthaginian Wars 265-146 B.C. – Terence Wise (Illustrated by Richard Hook) This is a little book I saw on Amazon with pictures of troops in the Second Punic War. Who knows if the images are accurate, but they gave me a mental image to work with. I can’t say I’d recommend it for information, but it has nice shiny pictures. Hannibal’s Dynasty – Dexter Hoyos I barely read this book. Unknown Resources – Many Authors There are many books I’ve read on the history of this war over the years, because of my interest in Hannibal, however they are undocumented. I will acknowledge them with this hearty round of applause. Wikipedia: Wikipedia can be a very convenient tool, but also a massive pain to work with. In the writing of both books, I used Wikipedia very lightly for research. Primarily it acted as a reminder for dates, casualties and stuff like that. In the first book, Two Spies and a General, because of Wikipedia I nearly made a catastrophic mistake. I checked Wikipedia for the date of a battle, and

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that date ended up having been changed to the wrong number by several years. It wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t until I was editing the book that I happened to catch the mistake, which resulted in massive rewrites of several sections. Needless to say, I stopped using it after that except for really small stuff like the spelling of a historical name.

About the Author : Every writer has a different reason to tell their story. Some are motivated from life experiences while others love a particular book, which they wish to emulate. For me the reason is simple. I love stories; no matter the medium they are told and there is always another which must to be written. How I tell these stories is the tool in which the reader can begin to view my personality. Within me there is a deep seeded, irrevocable disdain for the political establishment as we know it, hence the definite political bent to my stories. It seems that the purpose of government is to first consolidate power and then abuse that power, all the while claiming it is for the good of the average man. The greater the prize, the greater the scramble to grasp this power. No amount of money is considered too much of a sacrifice in order to control this power. Beware, any man who attempts at reforming this beast!

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How I got into writing is more interesting than my view of government. When in first grade, my teacher called for someone in the class to read a story. Only one girl, Kelly, could read at the time, so she was granted the honor of standing before the class. This didn’t sit well with me, so that day I informed my mother I wanted to learn how to read. Two weeks later I was reading simple stories, though it remained a task. Three months later, I was reading short books for leisure. Fast forwarding to twelve years old, I was an avid reader. I loved all types of books, but was guided by my mother toward classics such as Count of Monte Cristo, Les Miserables and Pride and Prejudice. Strangely enough, I despised grammar as a subject in school. Being educated at home the majority of my life; it was mother’s daunting task to force grammar down my throat. I did the lessons, but in the most unconventional way. Instead of re-writing sentences as dictated by the instructions, I would draw arrows here, there and everywhere. As you can imagine, this gave my mother much frustration, but the work was correct so it was grudgingly allowed. At roughly the same time, I began to type messages on unplugged keyboards while staring at blank screens. This was probably my meager attempt to emulate my father, who I considered at the time to have blindingly fast typing speeds. No matter the reason; by the time I was fourteen, I was typing at seventy words per minute. When I turned eighteen, mother and I began to write our first story. We would discuss the storyline, and then she would write out a segment. The next day I would edit that page and send it back, which she would then edit which I would then edit…and so on…and so on… Looking back, our first attempts were laughable since

About the Au thor

by the time we finished editing one page, the whole storyline had changed. Our techniques evolved slowly so that I would edit like before, but the edits would remain in a document until ready to be done at one time. It was at this time that I began to work on my own story, Two Spies and a General over lunch breaks and after work. When I began, I didn’t have a storyline of any kind, only the first chase scene and my main character’s personality. While writing, I learned that an overarching storyline was needed, not just a series of jumbled incidents with no purpose. Now I have a story spanning two books. Three years later, three books are finished. Javen, the Curse and the Apogee’s Sign; Two Spies and a General; and The General and the Spy are ready to be loved or hated, applauded or derided, bought and sold. For more information on the history, author or book, please visit: www.Herotyrus.com

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