Chapter 6

Gades, Southern Hispania

A long column of Britannian horsemen, two abreast and fifteen deep, passed the first buildings of the worn-down village, the eyes of every villager on them as they rode toward the central market. Or at least, every villager brave enough not to go into hiding the moment the column of armed and armored men appeared coming up the road.

The village had been through difficulties, it was clear. The road might have been well-made and sturdy twenty years ago, but now it was little more than a dirt track with the occasional stone not pressed into the dust sticking out to trip an inattentive man or animal. The huts and small homes were not in much better shape. Holes, cracked walls, crumbling sides. This was a village barely surviving, and by all accounts, it was the largest and most well-off village in the region, which said much about the neglect of their Carthaginian rulers. Former rulers.

As much as Llassar took in the state of the buildings and roads, his real attention was paid to the cowering people watching them. These were frightened people, and for good reason. They had suffered greatly at the hands of the Carthaginians. Seeing the column of Britannians riding through their streets, it must have seemed their brief bout of freedom was about to end for good.

Llassar didn’t disagree that Cormac needed a security contingent, considering the banditry in the area, but there had been other options. Llassar — and Niall, for that matter — had continued to try and convince Cormac to offer an invitation for the leaders to come to Kalb, or another neutral meeting place, where they wouldn’t feel like they were being invaded. Cormac, in his infinite wisdom, decided it was better to be seen coming to them, regardless of how many soldiers he brought.

Cormac rode at the head of the column, sitting tall and proud in the saddle. His overly ornate armor, which he’d commissioned before they’d left Devnum, did nothing to lessen the appearance of a triumphant conqueror. As they reached the crumbling administrative building, which had once housed the local Carthaginian governor, Cormac drew to a halt and signaled for most of the men to dismount with him.

“You ten come in with us; the rest, set up a perimeter, but do not interfere with the locals unless there is a threat to your lives,” the prince said, looking to Llassar as if his orders were somehow wise.

Llassar just shook his head, not bothering to make the argument again as he followed the prince, who confidently pushed into the central meeting hall, flanked by his guards. The room was sparse but functional, with stools and benches around the outskirts of the room and a small, raised area at the far end with five chairs, and an open area in between. It was clearly designed for meetings and audiences, with the leaders at the far end.

A group of locals were already gathered, filling the seats along the outskirts, some running in just ahead of the Britannians themselves. At the end of the room were a group of five men, four of them older, clearly village elders, and one much younger, somewhere between Llassar and Cormac’s age.

“I am Prince Cormac Cond Logas of the Britannic Empire,” he said to the youngest of the group. “I bring tidings and well wishes from my people and confirm how happy we are to see your village thriving now that we’ve driven the Carthaginian invaders from your lands. I have come to speak with you of cooperation and perhaps alliance so that we may work together to ensure they never return,” he said, loudly and confidently in his native tongue, looking to the scout on his right, whom Tribune Niall had sent with them as a translator.

Instead of translating right away, the man looked to Llassar and some of the others first, until Cormac gave him a pointed look, clearly impatient for the man to translate. Llassar didn’t speak the language, but even he could tell the words came from the man haltingly, as if he were worried about something.

As soon as the scout began conveying Cormac’s words to the younger man, murmurs rippled through the crowd gathered along the sides of the hall. The older tribal leaders glanced at each other, while the younger man’s eyes widened in evident surprise.

Llassar was a warrior, not a trained diplomat, but he knew, without a doubt, that they had just accidentally crossed some invisible cultural boundary and given offense. The aghast expressions of most of the people around them suggested it was more than just a small breach of diplomacy.

Cormac, for his part, didn’t seem to notice. Or at least, didn’t seem to think it important.

“As part of that alliance, we will not only guarantee your safety and security, using the might of our armies and ships to guard the shores of Hispania, preventing any from assaulting you again, but we offer trade of both weapons and goods the likes of which your people have never seen. We would like to set up a demonstration outside of town, for safety of course, where we can show you the power of the weapons we offer to sell you, so that you never have to fall victim to someone like the Carthaginians again. In return, we ask only for your friendship, and help in securing peace in your regions, as well as refraining from raiding or war with your neighbors. Through mutual diplomacy and goodwill, we can help you and your neighbors achieve lasting peace. Further, we would ask for your cooperation in helping us stamp out the Carthaginian menace, of course only to the degree you and your fellow leaders feel appropriate for the well-being of your people.”

Cormac looked particularly pleased with himself as he finished speaking. He’d clearly been practicing what he’d say, and now waited for ... what Llassar wasn’t sure. The reception of the audience around them made it clear the response he was getting was far from what they wanted and didn’t suggest any form of alliance was forthcoming. Either the prince was so wrapped up in presenting his practiced words that he didn’t notice, or was simply so foolish that he didn’t care. Whichever one was true, they both achieved the same result.

One of the village elders, an old man with a deeply lined face, stepped forward holding up a hand to interject. The scout interpreted his words for Cormac’s benefit.

“My Lord, your words speak of grand promises, yet we know little of you or your people. We have suffered much under the boot of the Carthaginians. They spoke of protection and prosperity when they first came, yet brought only misery and poverty.”

The old man glanced around at the desperate faces of his people before continuing.

“We thank you for driving out our oppressors, if that is what you did, but we must be cautious in choosing new friends. What guarantees can you provide that our former overlords will not return once you depart? We are simple folk, seeking only to live in peace and provide for our families. I do not wish to bring further wrath upon my village.”

Cormac looked from the young man to the older man and back again. Llassar hoped his expression was one of confusion, why their leader didn’t speak, but a part of him worried it was a sign that Cormac had taken offense. Llassar had been watching the by-play between the various leaders and was fairly certain there was something they’d missed here, in the dynamic of these village leaders. He just hadn’t been able to put his finger on it yet.

If it had been him, he would have introduced himself and then waited for the villagers to question them on their arrival, showing their hand first and setting a point to negotiate from. In not doing so, Cormac had missed something that seemed important to even the lowliest villagers present, and a sign that they had crossed some cultural threshold they should not have.

“The Carthaginians will not trouble you again, old man. We have broken their army and hold their ports. They pose no threat to you now,” he said, taking a closer step to the elder, looming over him. “But you are right to be cautious. A wise leader ensures his people’s security above all else. Hiding away will not protect you. You must stand alongside us and seize your destiny!”

Cormac pointed back towards the young warrior standing with the elders.

“Perhaps you should let younger men guide your tribe’s future. They understand strength and duty and would be better placed to make the best decision for your people. Fear will only lead to further suffering.”

Llassar watched in dismay as men around the meeting hall began reaching for weapons, anger on their faces, although for what offense it was still not clear. Cormac’s words had been hostile and much too aggressive, and even openly insulting, but the infraction had started before that. This was the culmination of whatever error Cormac had made.

Worse, several of the legionnaires responded by putting their hands on the pommels of their swords in response. Things were on the precipice of spiraling out of control.

And then, Cormac attempted to make the situation worse. The prince opened his mouth, the look on his face both indignant and aggressive, as he finally noticed the hostility around him.

Stepping forward swiftly, Llassar raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, moving to stand partly in front of Cormac while facing the elder.

“Please, let us pause a moment before rash action is taken,” Llassar said calmly to the elder before turning to the centurions. “Stand down. Take your hands off your weapons. NOW!”

The centurions clearly seemed reluctant to comply. They were in a bad position, surrounded on all sides and outnumbered, with the majority of their men split off outside the building. If this did turn to violence, it was unlikely any of them would escape this room.

“Honored elder, I sincerely apologize for the offense caused. We did not come looking for a fight. If you wish us to leave, we will do so immediately.”

For a moment, the old man just looked from Llassar to Cormac and back again, clearly weighing the situation. Finally, he looked back to the other old men, perhaps for approval or agreement. Llassar couldn’t help but notice they did not look to the younger man, who made no move to intercede or speak.

“Your words show humility,” he said, and then glared at Cormac. “Although if this stripling insults us again, you will leave or we will make you.”

Llassar bowed. “That is fair. You have my guarantee no further insults will happen.”

Cormac looked like he wanted to say something, perhaps defend himself. Llassar gave him a hard look, almost daring him to. The prince backed down, but Llassar knew this wouldn’t be the last of this conversation. Llassar turned back to the elder.

“Could we start again? I realize we approached this poorly; however, we still seek talks beneficial to all.”

The elder’s eyes bored into him. “And why should we trust you? Strangers often bring false promises.”