Sons of Elissa

[Tanit]

Next update is going up later tonight or tomorrow morning. Been busy with few projects and setting up a new computer which slows down writing. Also been further developing my direction for this story. Thanks for the comments guys!

[Blxz]

Cool stuff. I was worried that you had abandoned it.

EDIT: Also 300 views but only 2 people commenting. Seems like you have a few readers even though it doesn't appear that way at first.

[Tanit]

Warning, scenes of violence, not suitable for children.


Sons of Elissa

Chapter 2

A Time for War:
Part II: The West


Fall, 190 BC

Gelon Dertosa: Cantabria

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The wind that blew in from the sea, rising up against the foot of the mountain like a wave crashing against a cliff, was chill that morning. Winter was fast approaching and the snows would hit here, up in the high passes where the army was camped, first and hardest. The thick wolf-skin cloak Gelon had adopted would not be enough to keep him warm when that time came.

Two options were open to him, for there was no way the army would survive camping on the river in the foothills of the mountains through the winter. On the one hand he could retreat back to Pallantia for the winter, his challenge unanswered, and the uneasy peace would continue, and the Gauls would muster more men. On the other, he could push forward, engage the army camped outside Vellika and make a push for the town itself.

Both options presented their own difficulties, their pros and cons, but only one offered any reward. Thus was the course set. Gelon felt the warm muzzle and wet nose of his hound nuzzle up under his hand and he let himself pet the dog as he wrestled with his conscience one last time, the cool wind that heralded winter stirring his hair.

What did he owe Kart-Hadast? Nothing surely, they had paid him to give up his rebellion and he had accepted. Then they had offered him the command of an army, and how could he refuse? Taking the bribe had been a foolish choice, but it was one he had to live with now. At the time it had seemed so simple. He was tired, he hadn't bathed in a month, nor slept in days. The men with him had been starving and the much larger loyalist army had been closing in.

Yet at least life had been simple then. Kart-Hadast was the enemy, blank, the governor in Mastia, was the enemy. Now his old supporters were his enemies, the Gauls were enemies, and the Qarthadastim could never be sure of him.

A few leagues away, down in the lowlands, was the prize that might solve everything for him. Vellika had good walls, good cropland, a good supply of water, and was guarded to the north by the Pyrenees.

The only problem with that was the war it would start. Right now it was something of a cold war. No battles were fought, trading ships still sailed, yet spies crossed borders, armies massed, and the men walked lightly, their voices quiet and subdued. Every one of them felt the weight of what was coming, the bones were still rolling, but however they landed, it would not be good.

Better to get it over with. All of this manoeuvring, all of the shows of force and subtle gestures was enough to make a man sick to the stomach. Better a straight up fight, over and done with.

With his mind made up, Gelon gave his dog a final pet and went to collect his spear from that young squire with the funny left eye before meeting his master of horse. There was a battle to plan.

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Carpophorus Phameas: Zeugitania

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Smoke from incense burners drifted lazily into the air, giving the whole room a hazy appearance. Chanting reverberated off the walls and echoed back from the rafters. Only a few candles lit the little room.

All around Carpophorus, men in robes walked in circles, stopped, and then continued, reciting all the while. The rites were ancient, an initiation into a following much older than Kart-Hadast. And that initiation, that honour, was being bestowed on Carpophorus.

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The priests told Carpophorus that they had received a sign, and that he was blessed with the gods' favour in his new role as a general of Carthage. It was difficult to get a straight answer from them about what the sign was, but it had clearly been convincing.

All the while Carpophorus could only think of Ramona. The woman was more than twice his age, but she was exquisite. The woman had captured her, and likely didn't even know it. Or perhaps she did. There were times in their relationship where she seemed and acted . . . odd.

In any case, he was leaving Kart-Hadast after the ceremony, and it would be months, or even years before he saw Ramona again. The thought made him sad, and angry. He wanted to weep, he wanted to scream, but he didn't. His chest felt tight.

The priests had an ox for the offering and Carpophorus cringed a little as they slaughtered the beast, blood flowing freely out its neck. A small bowl was used to collect some of the blood and it was brought over to him. He was instructed to put his hands in the blood and recite the words they had taught him.

The words came easily enough, they had been drilled into him in the hours beforehand, but his heart wasn't really in it.

It was not long before the ceremony was over and Carpophorus was on his way, boarding ship for West Africa to pick up the troops that would form his army. They would be in Gaul within the year if all went well.

Carpophorus wondered what would happen on the campaign, how he would fair, what he would gain. His cousins were already famous generals in the east, Bodashtart Phameas and Xenophanes Barca. They were reaping in the glory already, but Carpophorus was still young and full of vigour. He had an army that would soon be his and a campaign that could make him as much of a hero as either of his cousins.

Ramona: Zeugitania: Kart-Hadast

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There was no where in the city as crowded, noisy and busy as the market complex near the harbour and the council hall. People from every walk of life and every country in the world, or so it seemed, filled the bustling marketplace with their shouts, their laughter and their conversation. Children ran between groups of adults, off to play games and explore the city, or to see what and who had come in on the ships today.

A group of merchants from Capua were haggling with a fat Qarthadastim over the price of Samnite bronze work. A group of surly Gallic warriors, their weapons left behind wherever they were staying, were talking to a recruiter hunting for mercenaries. There were Greeks, Sidonians, Iberians, Egyptians, Numidians, Romans, Gauls and even men from Albion plying tin.

People at market talked, they gossiped and gave their opinions on any topic you could want. It was a good place to get a feel for the mood of the city, to hear the latest rumour, or start one if you wanted.

Ramona liked coming to the market for that very reason. Certainly it was nice to get pottery from Athenai, or dyes from Tyre, or exotic foreign jewelry, but the real treasure was to be found in conversation.

These days the people were abuzz with talk of the mighty generals in the east, or of how their loved ones, or those of people they knew, were off to join the army headed for Gaul. Mostly the merchants were upset with that prospect. A war with Gaul would hurt trade and make it hard to find good iron.

That was something Ramona found particularly ironic. A good portion of the iron arming the soldiers who would be setting out soon had come from Gaul originally. So had some of the gold jewelry Ramona had in a box back home, but that hardly mattered. That Gallic iron would soon vanquish Gaul was an example of just how cruel the Gods could be in their ways.

The priests said the possible invasion of Gaul would be blessed if it happened. Birds had flown a certain way and Carpophorus was said to have been sanctioned by Baal. Not her husband Zamolxis, the senior general on the expedition, no, foolish young Carpophorus.

As far as Ramona could tell this move had old Bomilkar written all over it. He was on to her and this was likely a move to curb to her ambitions. But she had more tricks up her sleeve than the old man knew of, and she would see her husband seated on a throne yet.

A sigh escaped Ramona as she saw one woman in particular coming towards her through the throng. Actaee was the wife of Hasdrubal, Bomilkar's promising son. The two women had never gotten along, particularly when Ramona's father had been at the height of his power and it had looked like Hasdrubal would never be more than a simple politician and governor.

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It was possible that Ramona had lorded the fact over Actaee a little, and it was something she regretted now, for Actaee lost no opportunity to revel in the change of fate.

The insufferable woman had closed the distance and as she spoke up to get Ramona's attention, Ramona was resigned to the fact that she would not be able to ignore the woman. “Good afternoon Ramona. How are the wares today?”

“Nothing new or interesting today I'm afraid.” Ramona replied with a smile.

“Really?” Actaee responded with mock disappointment and surprise, “That is truly a pity, since your last purchase is being shipped away today.”

The woman knew too much, or at least thought she did. How she had found out about Carpophorus, Ramona didn't know, but she planned to find out. Still, there were things Ramona knew as well.

“It is a pity isn't it?” Ramona's voice was as sweet as honey, “And as much for your husband, I hear he has tired of his latest trinket already.”

Actaee stiffened with anger, her cheeks flushed red. The woman didn't know how to control herself, and that was why she would never get the better of Ramona. That Hasdrubal was less than faithful to his wife was the worst kept secret in the city.

Leaving Actaee sputtering with indignation, Ramona slipped away through the crowds and headed to her estates. The estates belonged to her, as the sole heir of her father's possessions, and she had convinced Zamolxis to move there with her instead of joining him at his family's estates in Kirtan.

The large building complex was situated halfway up the fortified akropolis at the heart of the city and easily dominated the surrounding structures. Her father had ensured that everyone in Kart-Hadast knew where they lived, and just how powerful they were.

Zamolxis was waiting for her when she arrived in the entrance hall, sitting on the bench beside the pool in the centre of the room, the sun shining down on him through the opening in the ceiling. The light shining on him made him look particularly handsome today. The thought seemed odd when Ramona considered it. The marriage had been a purely political move, yet over the last few months she had found herself becoming . . . fond of the man.

He had a fiery personality that often put him in awkward situations, for he was not the brightest of men, but he was strong, loyal and devout. At this particular moment he was studying what looked like a piece of correspondence. Seeing her come in, Zamolxis set the letter down and stood up, unusually distant today, and came to greet her.

“Welcome home Ramona. How was the marketplace?” He smiled, but there was a curious look in his eyes.

“It was less than satisfactory today. Is something wrong my husband?” He looked away at some distant spot on the floor, his brows lowering and his lips forming a frown, “You seem troubled.”

Ramona waited patiently while she watched him mull over what he wanted to say in his head, finally he spoke, “I was in the council today, discussing the organization of our troops for the journey to Gaul, when I was presented with the ugliest of speculation from Eshmunkhilletz, Hasdrubal's puppet amongst the Judges.” Zamolxis turned back to look Ramona in the eyes, “He seems to think that you are keeping secrets from me.”

Whoever had found out, however they had found out, it went well beyond Actaee it seemed. Ramona could feel herself backed into the corner. There was no recourse now, she had to tell her husband the truth, or at least enough of it to allay his suspicions. She cast her eyes down and made her voice soft and meek, “It is true that I have not been entirely honest with you husband.” She could see anger growing in his eyes, “I have been, without your consent, securing the loyalty of officers in the Gallic Expedition to ensure your command reigns supreme, and that credit for our victories goes to you.”

It was not necessary to tell him how those loyalties had been obtained, bribery, blackmail, extortion, and the occasional romance, but she could no longer hide her intentions from him.

Anger went out of his face, its place quickly taken by confusion. He sputtered for a moment, trying to find the words he wanted. “Why?”

Sooner or later old Bomilkar, or his son, would get to Zamolxis and try to turn him against her. Her only choice was to be forthcoming with him, and hope she could keep him on her side. Ramona shrugged and sighed, “Because I want back what I lost, because my father's death made me a pariah in upper society, because I'd like to see Hasdrubal and Actaee's bodies swinging from the walls one day.”

Zamolxis was completely taken aback, his face was pale and he looked like he had taken a shot to the gut. Backing up to where the bench was, Zamolxis sat down hard. He tried to form a question, his mouth opening and closing, yet nothing intelligible came out.

“Am I using you for my ambitions as well?” Ramona tilted her head in thought, “I suppose I was, initially.” The hurt that appeared on her husband's face stung more than Ramona had expected it would. “But my affection for you has grown since we were wed, I could even say I love you.” The words hung in the air for a moment, there seemed to be no sound, no world, nothing except the conversation between the two of them.

Ramona knelt down in front of her husband and bowed her head, “I want my revenge, I will not deny it. But I do not want to lose you. If you ask it of me, I will stop.”

Time seemed to stretch into an eternity as she awaited his answer. After what seemed a lifetime she felt his hand gently cup her chin, the fingers sliding over her skin lightly. Very slowly, he raised her head until their eyes met, “I love you Ramona, and I would give you anything you want in the whole world. If you ask me for a throne, I shall give you a throne. If you want Hasdrubal's head, then I will give it to you.”

Karneades Akademaikos: Atiqa

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“Bodashtart Adys has passed Messana and is likely halfway up Italy by now.” Hasdrubal's smooth voice carried through the chamber they were in, sequestered away in the estates of Bomilkar's family.

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“And your point brother?” Carthalo was as bright as his brother-in-law, but was growing tired of waiting for their father to arrive while listening to Hasdrubal's complaints.

“My point, brother, is that Adys will most likely be engaging the Gauls in just a few weeks time, and he has no support.” Hasdrubal stalked around the table in the centre of the room and gestured to the map of the empire sprawled out in front of them. “The levying of troops is taking longer than we expected, we should have dispatched troops from Albion and Italy already.”

“I ordered their dispatch before I called on Adys.” Bomilkar stood in the doorway, wreathed in shadows, looking broad, powerful and menacing. “By now the Italians should be approaching Mediolanum, and the troops from Albion should have already landed in northern Gaul.”

Hasdrubal dropped his head, “My apologies father.”

Bomilkar waved his hand dismissively as he entered the room and approached the table, “Don't apologize for suggesting the correct course of action. I'm glad you have a grasp of the situation.”

“Why didn't you tell us father?” Carthalo was up from his seat to greet his father-in-law.

Karneades threw in his voice from his seat to the right of the table, “An excellent question my lord Bomilkar.” His choice of words was somewhat mocking, but it was why Bomilkar liked having him around, he was never afraid to voice his opinion. Karneades had more than once voiced his disregard for Bomilkar's new 'reign' in Kart-Hadast, his hypocrisy in the aftermath of Germelqart's death.

Bomilkar sneered at the Stoic, “I keep my counsel closer than my undergarments, and its a lesson I want my sons to take to heart. Conveniently, it also gave me a chance to see if they were paying attention to the situation,” Bomilkar smiled at his sons, “which they were.”

“More important, however, is this.” Bomilkar tossed a scroll on the table, his face serious once again.

Hasdrubal and Carthalo read it over quickly before passing it to Karneades. It was from Yutpan Gisgo, the governor in Paraitonion. Menestheus, the last Ptolemy, was dead.

“That will make our south-eastern flank much more secure.” Carthalo smiled and surveyed the relevant portion of the map.

“Perhaps,” Karneades replied, “perhaps not.”

“Why wouldn't it be Karneades?” Hasdrubal crossed his arms and regarded the philosopher. He was a little older than the Greek, which made him competitive and confrontational at times. He did not regard Karneades' advice as keenly as his father did.

“It is only this,” Karneades began as he approached the map himself, “The Arabs have a very large build-up of military forces in Nabateia, and their peace with us is conditional only upon our mutual struggle with the Ptolemies.”

Karneades' hand brushed the coastline of Arabia from Gerrha in the east, round the promontory and the incense coast, across the capital of Maryab and up to Bostra. “With no mutual enemies, and our armies busy fighting against the Seleukids and Gauls, what is to stop the Arabs invading the Sidonian Kingdom?” The Stoic's hand came to rest on Sidon, seat of King Abydos.

“He is an ally, not a subject, in spite of everything Kart-Hadast has done for him, and his conquests have put him in command of Hierosolyma and Damascus, making him border the Arabs and their armies.

'They may think,” Karneades gestured with a raised finger and eyebrow, “that since we are distracted, and have been friends for so long, we may overlook the fall of Abydos.”

Hasdrubal scoffed at the Philosopher, “They wouldn't dare. Even if they could call on their allies in Meroe, they wouldn't dare.”

Karneades was about to rebuke Hasdrubal when Bomilkar's hand waved for silence, “You should pay more attention to Karneades son, he has a quick mind. Still, we can hope for now that the Sabeans will not attack yet, and deal with it in due course if they do. We have armies and governors in the region for a reason, and they should be able to hold out for now if we are betrayed.

'In the meantime we must attend to the matters at hand, have you done as I instructed Hasdrubal?”

Hasdrubal smiled viciously, “Yes father, Carpophorus is now a priest of Ba'al, and he had some most interesting sins to be cleansed of. It seems our lioness, Ramona, has been seducing the poor young man. With Carpophorus aboard a ship for Ippone that has stopped, and I had Eshmunkhilletz bring the matter subtly before Zamolxis, we shall see what he does about his unfaithful wife.”

Bomilkar nodded satisfactorally, “Very good news son. I'd be happier if we could just kill the woman, but the people would be in uproar if anything happened to Germelqart's daughter. Still, we may yet put a curb on her ambitions.”

All this talk of murder, political manoeuvring and abuse of the sacred priesthood was most upsetting for Karneades. Of course it was the priesthood of Ba'al, not his own gods, but if Bomilkar would disrespect his own gods, how much more so the gods of another people?

There were days when Karneades wondered if he had thrown his lot in with the wrong man.

Wilagastiz the Lame: Vindelicos

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An old man sat alone on a log in the woods, skinning the rabbit he had snared. His right leg was bent, supporting the weight of the rabbit on his knee while his left leg stuck out straight, a thick wooden crutch laying alongside it. His hair was as grey as a cloudy morning, and his beard and moustache were full. Deep lines clung under the eyes of a man who had seen much in his life.

The leader of the Noricae scouting party signalled for his men to spread out through the bush and surround the old man. Beyond him lay the Sweboz encampment, the army the Noricae had been tracking since it withdrew from their territory.

With the men in place the Noricae leader charged out of the bushes and swung his sword at the old man. The sword cut only air as the old man ducked and rolled to the left, coming up with knife in one hand and crutch in the other.

Another Noricae came out of the brush on the left, to the lone man's right, thrusting a spear at him. The old man leaned back, almost casually, letting the spear pass in front of him. Hooking the spear under his left arm, the old man pulled, bringing his adversary close enough to plunge the dagger into the Noricae's throat. The scout dropped to his knees, eyes full of shock and blood bubbling out of his mouth and throat.

The Noricae leader advanced cautiously, shield raised, trying to hold the old man's attention while two more of his party came at him from behind. The old man wasn't fooled. Picking his crutch up in his left hand like a spear, he thrust forward against the leader's shield with surprising strength, knocking him back.

Spinning on his right leg, his left following almost uselessly, the old man met his other two attackers. The one on the right took a backhanded swing with a longsword, and the Noricae on the left came at him with a downward axe stroke at the same time. The old man met the sword swing with his knife, his whole arm quivering from the effort, and thrust his crutch into the axeman's throat, causing the axe to sail harmlessly over his shoulder to the sickening crunch of the man's windpipe colapsing.

The thrust with the crutch had put him off balance however, and the old man tumbled to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, longsword hacked downwards, but the sword severed crutch instead of arm. The old man plunged his dagger into longsword's foot and the man fell backwards with a shout.

All of this happened in only seconds, and the old man was already struggling to one knee as the Noricae leader returned to the fray. He thrust at the old man's side, but the man twisted enough that the sword only scratched his skin, a thin line of blood welling up along the line. Grasping the leader's sword wrist, the old man brought his left arm down hard on the Noricae's arm, snapping the bone.

Longsword was on his feet and trying to hobble back into the woods at this point, moving faster than the old man could without his crutch. Reaching down, the old man picked up the leader's fallen sword and chucked it at longsword's retreating form, the sword piercing the Noricae's back.

The leader couldn't believe what had happened. One lame old man had killed all three of his men and broken his arm. The pain was overwhelming and the Noricae leader watched, black closing in around his vision, as the old man picked the fallen spear up off the ground and put the scouting leader out of his misery.

It was getting dark when the old man re-entered the Sweboz camp, using a bloody spear as a crutch to help his lame leg. After ordering that the men who were on patrol be put on half-rations for a week, and that someone make him a new crutch, Wilagastiz, chieftain of the Sweboz confederacy, and of all Germans, made his way to his tent to have his wound looked at and to get a drink.

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Some Notes:

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1: There are no battle pictures, my apologies, I went through what I had taken and none looked good, either way I want to push on to the next chapter
2: Its still the same year, again sorry, but there was some buildup to do storywise. Things should start moving a little faster now
3: Why Wilagastiz? I have been watching this guy kick ass in central europe for decades now, from before he was even faction heir, he is getting old and I wanted some part of his awesomeness to be known, besides, it may be hinting at story still to come :)
4: Why the priesthood thing with carpo? Well, being a priest did not preclude being a general back then, and in one turn the guy got three priest ancilliaries and 'favour of the gods', besides, gave me the chance for some political nastiness
5: Tearing the empire apart, I don't feel quite so bad about that now . . .

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[Blxz]

Wow, Wilagastiz is a champion! I love it when you find an awesome little general running around, its such a shame when they sometimes try and attack the player faction though.

Also, the story seems to be getting better. Maybe I just know who the characters are now; either way, I like the writing very much.

[Andres]

Only read a few pieces so far, but it looks like you're a gifted writer, Tanit. It reads like a book. Very nice.

[rickinator9]

Wait, the Arche actually still lives? I always dies in my playthroughs, even if I'm on the other side of the world

[Tanit]

Yeah, not only did they survive, but they also killed Pahalava and Baktria.