To Kill the Christ! - Chapter Twenty-nine: Ambush

The commandos left for Ephesus on 2 December, AD27, according to Carl's reckoning. The freighter was driven by a Zephyros, Alexander called it, a west wind that pushed the boat toward Ephesus. While not a hard wind, it was stiff and consistent, reducing the time of passage substantially.

"With its numerous islands and havens in case of an unexpected storm," Alexander said, "the Aegean is crossed during most of the winter, unless there's a Borea, a hard wind from the north that makes sailing dangerous."

Few boats sailed the Mediterranean in the winter. Carl recalled the New Testament story of Paul's winter journey to Rome when he was shipwrecked on Malta. Emperor Tiberius was so  desperate for grain one year to feed Rome's hungry citizens that he had to bribe captains to brave the sea in order to bring grain from Carthage.  That incident had happened recently, he thought, though he couldn't remember when it occurred in Tiberius' reign, and he didn't dare ask Alexander since it may not have taken place yet. In any case, they, like Raphael, would travel overland from Ephesus because no ship would sail to Phoenicia.

Because of Raphael's head start, Carl decided to take but a few minutes to visit the Temple of Diana or, as Alexander called her, Artemis. Their first view was breathtaking. Carl had read of its majesty, but the numerous columns (Alexander said 127) were a sight to behold. Carl estimated they were over 50 feet high, and surrounded an area the size of a soccer field. All of the columns were of marble, but over 30 were inlaid with gold.

I can see why the barbarians will rip this place apart if only for the gold and silver.

The temple was considered one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, a massive building that contained an ugly image of Diana on a beautiful altar near the front of the building. "The altar," Alexander proudly announced, "was designed and built by Praxiteles, perhaps the greatest Greek sculptor." But the image of Diana was short, squat, and black, so ancient no one knew where it came from, hence the myth that it fell from heaven. Diana had many breasts, signifying fertility, the reason many men and women worshipped her. She was widely adored in most of the Mediterranean countries, and the size of the crowds showed that a visit to the temple was popular.

Alexander was no worshipper of Diana, and the commandos had no idea who she was, but they still were staggered that such a temple could be built. After all, they had lived in rude huts until just a few years after Carl had arrived. It was incomprehensible that such a building could exist, but they had seen it with their own eyes. What a story to tell their families!

"Carl," Alexander said, "warn your men to be careful. This is a refuge temple, and if a criminal from any part of the world reaches this place he's protected from prosecution. There are thieves all over the place."

"If a thief can be saved by reaching the temple, what happens if he steals from the temple?"

Alexander smiled. He was learning to expect that kind of response. "I don't know, I imagine they have a rule that takes care of that."

Carl was amused to see that Ephesian hucksters were little different from those he was familiar with in the Twenty-first Century, for peddlers with open air stands sold trinkets of all kinds, including silver models of the altar and Diana, amulets and magic potions, and something of parchment, something he couldn't grasp.

"Alexander, what're these?" He pointed to the pleading hands offering him parchment rolls.

 "They're 'Ephesian Letters' and you wear the parchment on your body. It guarantees you a safe journey, children, if you don't have any—do you?—and success in business. They are the catch-alls of magic." He had raised the question without taking a breath, but he looked expectant.

"Yes, I have two boys and a daughter at home in Britannia, and I miss them dearly."

Alexander nodded. He was childless, so far as he knew, but it wasn't because he hadn't tried. He just hadn't married.

Carl decided against exploring the cavernous interior of the building. He, as with his men, had never seen anything quite like it. They, of course, didn't know such a world existed. Pember had expressed it best after their whirlwind tour of Rome.

"I know the Romans are great warriors with unsurpassed weapons," he had said, "but I couldn't imagine such a city with so many people living in such large buildings." He had paused and grinned, "But the people are soft, interested more in games, hot baths," and here he had looked fully at Alexander, "women, and money. They will someday run out of people to serve as soldiers."

Carl had nodded. It was an astute observation, and when he translated it later, even Alexander conceded the point. "Pember's right, we already use large numbers of auxiliaries. But there are a lot of hardy Romans who live outside of the city. It'll be a long time before she runs out of soldiers."

In Ephesus, Pember pursued the point. "Did the Romans build this?" He waved at the temple.

"No, it was built by the Ephesians before the Romans conquered them."

Pember shook his head. So many cities, so much water, such talent. His corner of Britannia receded in significance. The Romans call us barbarians. They're right!

Carl read the slump of his shoulders. "Large buildings don't make a great people. It's what the people do with what they've been given by nature that makes them great. You can't know it, Pember, because it will happen long after we are dead, but Britannia will one day—far in the future—be an important nation with so many colonies (that word Pember understood) around the world that the sun will not set on its kingdom. Even Rome cannot claim that."

Of course, Rome may well conquer Britannia in another fifteen years, he said to himself, but I'll tell you about that when it's time. Buck up. I'm going to need your toughness and confidence.

                             ______________________

Cold rains made their lives miserable for several days, and slowed them considerably. They took advantage of the baths in Colosse, but not when they moved into the highlands.

Even in such cold and rainy conditions, Roman roads made it possible to travel past several way stations each day. It was on the third day, after they had penetrated the plateau that led them to the Taurus Mountains, that two horses gave way. They could go no farther, and the other horses were greatly fatigued. These were the pick of Long Reach's herd, though Carl's Murt and his offspring weren't included. In the past few years the stock of the herds had improved immeasurably because of careful breeding. But now they could do even better. They stopped at a regional market, and Carl inquired about horses.

Alexander filled him in. "The horses of Cappadocia are the best in the Mediterranean region, unless you're from Iberia where you'd disagree, and people come from countries quite distant to buy them. Somewhere in antiquity"—Carl was startled until he realized that Alexander meant hundreds of years before they were living—"someone was smart enough to breed horses that were fearless, fast, and had great endurance. They are large enough to hold even you."

 Alexander did the haggling since Greek, not Latin, was the common language of Asia Minor. The horse traders wanted only Carl's salt and silver coins, particularly those issued by the Roman emperors, until they weighed those from Long Reach and found they contained more silver. They also took several of his horses in trade since they could be restored to health and sold.

The Cappadocian horses were trained to respond to the bit and leg pressure, both to stay on the horse and to signal moves. They would need to be retrained. But Alexander was right. They were magnificent creatures, though they were without horseshoes. They needed to find a blacksmith so Obricius could shod the horses. The Cappodocian horse traders were intrigued at the shoes and wanted to keep them.

As they moved away, Carl saw mules in the string of another trader. They were larger and hardier animals than the donkeys that carried their baggage and slowed them so badly. He made the decision to trade for them. Again, Alexander did the bargaining, and soon they were on their way with several mules in the entourage, minus donkeys and silver coins.

"Why do you want mules?" Alexander asked.

"Now's a good time to ask! It's primarily because mules are faster than donkeys and they have greater staying power. The donkey's have slowed us. If we need to run because of an attack, the mules may save your baggage."

Once they reached the interior of Asia Minor, they met fewer and fewer travelers, and the only people they saw outside of the villages and way stations, which were oftentimes located near the numerous hot springs, were shepherds of sheep and horses. It was a desolate high country, high enough that the dry cold was penetrating. In the north huge volcanic mountains rose from the stubble, and great lakes dotted the landscape. Nevertheless, it was the volcanic stone and bare landscape in the winter season that depressed the soul. Looking for someway to describe it, Carl recalled Dante's Divine Comedy. He must have been inspired to describe the inner circle of punishment in The Inferno after seeing this.

The stone-strewn, treeless terrain was dotted with wormwood and sage. Numerous streams cutting their way through the landscape were reasonably shallow, but, in any case, the Romans had bridged them. Roman soldiers and auxiliaries were seen frequently, for official stations were located every eighteen miles or so, but Aurelius' official letter eased passage past even the surliest guards.

Several guards were helpful in revealing that Raphael and his two bodyguards were still ahead of them. Raphael's crabbed right hand was a distinctive mark. But the episode with the horses and the time spent in shoeing them had widened the gap. It took days to reduce it.

                             ______________________

The weather remained cold, but not damp like Britannia and the foothills of the Alps, and the sky had been clear for a couple of days. Carl calculated that they had covered over 400 miles from Ephesus. They were a well-worn group of travelers as they approached hills leading to the Cilicia Gate, the only low level pass through the southern reaches of the Taurus Mountains.

Alexander approached the guard at the last post before they climbed into the pass. He showed his papers then asked if the guard or anyone at the roadside hotel had seen three men on horses passing earlier. One of them had a crippled hand.

"Yo," a guard said. "He and 'is men came through after the sun hit its zenith. They'll probably be on the top of the pass by now."

Carl decided to camp near the post and leave early in the morning. Bandits could attack easily at night in a pass that was unfamiliar to his men. Raphael is less than four hours ahead, Carl thought. We can make up that distance in one day.

Early the next morning they started on their way with point men and outriders until the hills closed in. The road was in good shape, well worn because it was the primary overland route from Syria. The pass was fairly steep, but nothing like the Alps, and there were no avalanches to be worried about. Mid-morning they breasted the summit and moved down into the Cilician Plains.

Having successfully breached the pass without running into brigands, and with the road beginning to level out, Carl called in his men and they began a trot into the plains. It was about twenty miles to Tarsus, and he wanted to get as close as possible before nightfall. They probably would catch up with Raphael that evening.

It was an error in judgment he would quickly regret.

 As they sped along the road a sudden volley of arrows met them.

"Ambush!" he yelled.

About twenty archers, the count was confused, rose from heavy bushes and from nearby groves to assault them.  Fortunately for the commandos, they were not expert bowmen, and they had misjudged the speed, discipline, and horsemanship of the group. They had never seen such body armor before.

"Keep riding!" Carl yelled, and the troop gladly agreed as there was no cover from which to fight.

Four men in the rear were unseated, and badly wounded. Animals were slain, including two of the mules, and one of the assistants was caught under his mule.

The dismounted commandos quickly regrouped around the downed animal for protection from the ambushers who first hesitated, then slowly worked their way toward the injured men.

Damn, Carl thought, as they raced ahead about a quarter mile. He was conflicted. Raphael's within a half-day's ride, maybe he's in Tarsus now. But there could be no decision to leave those men in danger. Father, he prayed, You'll have to take care of Jesus. I'm needed by my men.

The party slid to a halt behind an outcropping of basalt.

Pember asked Carl, "Why are we stopping? We haven't finished the mission yet, and Raphael is only a few hours ahead."

Carl was busy pulling his rifle from the case. He didn't take time to mount the scope but lay against the outcropping.

"You're right," Pember. "I'll explain why I'm doing this later. Meanwhile ," and he yelled across the circle of men to an aide with an arrow in his leg, "Drucius, you'll have to stay with that arrow until we can drive the bandits away from our comrades. Rest over there," he pointed, "and I'll help you as soon as I can."

He climbed a small knoll so that he could clearly see the brigands without being reached by their arrows. The ambushers had not pursued.

"Pember."

"Yes, sir."

"I see you already have a man scouting for other brigands. Good. Send three men behind that berm into that grove of palm trees. They should be able to get close before being spotted. You take the remainder and prepare to charge, but wait until I fire. We must save our men. I'll stay here and teach those bastards why I'm called Carl of the Long Reach."

Pember grinned. He had seen Carl demonstrate his "reach" three times, and each demonstration had been awesome.

"Alexander, see if you or one of your helpers can help Drucius. Otherwise, stay out of the way. You and your helpers won't be of any use in this fight."

Alexander didn't argue. He was quite content to stay with Carl, though to be honest he would rather be fleeing down the road. He was concerned about his baggage, however, as the two dead mules were his. He went over to help Drucius.

Carl took a handful of shells from his hip pouch, lay on the small rise, and prepared to shoot, ignoring the "Magic Blanket." He quickly added the scope and braced. He picked out the man he felt was the leader and dropped him on his first shot.

The firing of the rifle probably saved two commandos. The brigands turned their heads and backed away from the downed commandos, startled by the report of the rifle and the immediate impact on their leader, who lay lifeless on the road in a pool of blood.

Three brigands started to loot the baggage on a mule before they saw Pember's charge. They yelled and frantically turned for their weapons.

Carl began picking them off, one by one. The frightened brigands looked at each other, thoroughly bewildered by affairs. They could hear the report of the rifle and see their fellow thieves hit the ground, sometimes groveling in pain, but they couldn't understand what the sound of thunder had to do with the wounds.

Alexander watched the drama unfold from behind Carl. He realized that Carl had a weapon so powerful it could decimate Roman troops from a great distance. No leader was safe if an enemy had such a weapon.

The brigands panicked, already having lost heavily. The remainder fled Pember's oncoming horsemen only to run into riders charging through the grove, swords flashing. They were helpless before the two-pronged onslaught, and all but three perished. Two of them escaped in the thick brush on the south side of the road. The third was wounded and could not escape.

Pember called his men back when they started to give chase. They had wounded comrades to care for and dead comrades to bury, crazed animals to be caught and, in two cases, destroyed, and baggage transferred to the remaining animals. Even though the ambush had been a disaster to the ambushers, it still was costly to the commandos.

Carl ran over to Drucius and found Alexander had cut the shaft of the arrow.

"Good move, Alexander." The arrow was not completely through the fleshy part of his leg, but it was partially protruding from the other side. He looked at the young aide, who was bravely trying to avoid tears and failing.

"I hate to do this, Drucius, but it's necessary." And he hit him on the jaw, knocking him out. Then he pushed the arrow through the leg.

"Alexander, put some of this in the wound and tie his leg above the wound so that it won't bleed as much. I'll return to patch him up." He used English for the last phrase.

He mounted and went to assess the damage. Androcus was severely wounded with an arrow in his side. It had found its way between two bronze chips in his vest. Ombricix, a wiry, catlike fighter, had an arrow lodged in his thigh. Two men were dead, though Procopius had slain two robbers before he died. Dygnus had died almost instantly from an arrow in his neck.

A fire was started to heat water, then Carl cut the heads of the arrows from each man, doing as little damage to the flesh as possible. He bathed the wounds with Rebecca's unpatented herbal, sutured them with a thin but strong tent thread, and bound them tightly. At least the thread and needle were sterilized.

 Without pain killers, the probing and suturing had been painful beyond measure, but the commandos only grimaced and grunted, though an expletive in Coritani turned the air blue once in awhile. They were stoic in view of their dead comrades. Like Procopius and Dygnus, they had been unlucky. It was Tyche, their fortune or fate.

Alexander even voiced that feeling.

"Look at it this way," Carl rejoined. "If we hadn't been moving so fast, they could have set up and got all of us. They also err'd in having some archers target pack animals instead of men. Perhaps they expected the rest of us to flee the scene leaving men and baggage behind. And I misjudged the danger by not having a point man, even traveling as fast as we were."

Carl was thoroughly ticked, both at the brigands and his error in judgment.

"Whatever they expected, they sorely misjudged us. Alexander, mark on that rock, in Latin and Greek, 'Death to all who would rob Carl of the Long Reach of Britannia,' then put down that eighteen brigands died. Will you?"

"My pleasure, except it was nineteen," and he scratched the letters into a large rock by the side of the road. He then took a small tool from his pack and scribed the letters deeply so they would last many years, or until defaced. He stood back to admire his work.

"Looks good," Carl said from over his shoulder. But it was done in anger and out of hubris, and it would come back to bite them when the Romans learned who he was.

Carl took Pember aside. "You're right, Pember. The mission is all powerful, and, indeed, that's the reason we fled the scene. If I felt we had time to spare, I would have charged into the ambush, not through it. That's one of the first lessons we learn in training. When ambushed, charge it."

Pember nodded. My instincts were correct, he thought. He was relieved at Carl's explanation.

"By the time we reached the outcropping," Carl continued, "I had rethought our situation."

He paused, uncertain how to explain without giving too much away. "As you know, I have a religion different from that of the Coritani. Our mission was to catch and, if necessary, kill Raphael before he could kill a man named Jesus, a man who will soon be called the Christ, the redeemer of mankind from God's wrath.

"Under normal circumstances I would have kept going and left the men to fare for themselves. But Jesus isn't normal, and I don't think Raphael's situation is normal."

He paused for a moment. He still hadn't explained his rejection of the mission.

"I believe in—or, I did believe—that Jesus is the Son of God, the most powerful god in the universe. If he is who I believed he is, Raphael can't kill him. If, however, he's just a good man, then Raphael may kill him. I believe we can change history, but not if God has ordained otherwise. I wouldn't have stopped for any other reason than to save our men."

"But" Pember said, "we know the cost to us if we're wounded and the mission isn't complete is to die at the hand of the enemy. It's the price we pay for being one of your commandos.

"You've learned the lesson well, friend. I just pray that my decision was correct and that it allows God to show His power. If I'm wrong, it will mean disaster to the world."

Pember's matter of fact recitation of the Special Forces code gave Carl pause. Did I make the right decision?

There could easily have been twenty dead, but Carl had rescued the wounded brigand from vengeful commandos. He was bound and placed by the side of the road until they could finish more important matters.

They buried the two commandos behind the rock and placed large stones over the freshly turned dirt. The only ceremony to accompany the burial was a short prayer by Carl, asking God to forgive and accept the two comrades, then they spent a few moments looking at the fresh dirt, the only physical remembrance of two close comrades. There had been a debate about dividing the weapons among the men before the burial, the first time Carl had seen this in his men. It was Druidic thought coming to the fore.

"They'll need them on the other side," several said. Druids were ambivalent but usually taught that life just continued on the other side of death until there was a time of reckoning.

Carl tried a different tactic. "Only a chief needs weapons from this side. It will be his responsibility to provide weapons for them." Belgae chiefs had elaborate burials with weapons, cart, and horses.

There was some skepticism among the men, but they saw the utility of having the extra weapons available. They weren't sure about the theology.

The amber of the dead commandos was handed to Carl, who gave it to Pember for safe keeping. He would dole it out to their survivors. There was no need for it to go to the grave when it could do some good for the families.

The commandos would rather die in Britannia than in some foreign land, but each was realist enough to know that if he died in either location, he was dead. And they had assurance that Carl would provide for their survivors. In this life that was all they expected.

After attending to his men, including Drucius, Carl checked the wound of the brigand. He had lost a lot of blood from an arrow in his lower leg, but he would recover unless infection got started. He placed sulfa on the wound before binding it, then one of the commandos carefully retied him. "We'll take him to the Romans for interrogation."

The wounded men were too weak to ride, so comrades fashioned three travois to carry them to Antioch. Instead of dragging one end on the ground, as American Indians did, they tied the other ends to trailing mules, creating sedans without the chair. Alexander's men handled the animals. The helper upon whom the mule had fallen was shaken and bruised but otherwise undamaged.

Carl was frustrated. This delay was his fault for ignoring good military practice. They wouldn't have avoided the ambush, but they might have saved comrades and avoided some injuries.

                             ______________________

While they made the travois, Alexander raced ahead, oblivious to potential danger, to find Roman guards. His horse slid to a stop at a small watch station. While showing his credentials, he told the guard of the ambush. "We were attacked by twenty brigands or so this side of the pass. We killed most of them but lost two men and have three wounded. Where is your officer?"

The soldiers were preparing their meal and resented the intrusion, but the possibility of viewing several bodies of brigands stirred their interest.

One of them, a common soldier but the leader of the squad, sent a man to accompany Alexander to Legat Flabbian in the caster outside Tarsus. Then he prepared his meal. He fully expected legionnaires from the city to commandeer them to dispose of the bodies, and he wanted to eat before they arrived.

Alexander was soon standing before a centurion on duty, describing the events of the afternoon, neglecting, however, to report Carl's part in assuring the brigand's disaster.

Centurion Classicus stomped his well shod foot. "By the gods of the accursed Syrians," a slur confined only to the two of them since the watch post soldier had returned to his post. "You may have killed our most irritating brigand."

Alexander interrupted. His letter of passage had given him a modicum of authority, which he asserted. "Three of my men are injured and will need a place to recover. Is one of the hotels in the town better than the others?"

The centurion interrupted his expression of elation and wrote a name on a slate. "Go to this hotel. The manager is especially gifted in Greek medicine. Some of my men have spent time in his hotel to recover from certain diseases by using his ointments. You will find the hotel clean. He does not share the reputation of most hoteliers located near camps."

While Alexander went to make arrangements, Classicus did the same. He sent a cohort to dispose of the bodies and to take control of the surviving brigand. The Cilician's wounds were unimportant. He would be torn asunder and body parts left behind after they had all the information they could extract from him. The roadside dismemberment was to be a warning to others.

For Carl and the commandos it was slow going, what with outriders and the wounded. As a result, they did not arrive in the commercial area of Tarsus until nighttime. They had met the Roman cohort on the road and had turned over the brigand to them.

 Alexander paid the manager with two small pieces of amber, which were of greater value than the lodging and meals, but he wanted a happy hotelier rather than one who might create problems for the wounded men. He then returned to the main road to let Carl know where the men could be placed.

Classicus met with Carl later that night. He dictated a report of his meeting to the legat the next afternoon, after he had heard from his own men.

"We met the emissaries from Rome on the way out to the site of the fight and took control of the brigand," he wrote. "He was wounded in the lower leg. The emissaries had bandaged his wound even after he killed II of their men. They treated him better than I would have (and, he added under his breath, better than I did).

"We found XIX dead brigands about X miles north. According to the prisoner, II others escaped. Several were killed by arrows and several more by sword, but V, including the chief, were killed with a different weapon. The brigand alerted us to it, though he did not know what it was, by claiming he heard thunder claps and then men began falling around him. He was wounded himself by the man called Carl of the Long Reach, who took something out of his leg after probing with a knife. This Carl inscribed his deeds in Latin and Greek on a roadside stone to commemorate the battle. He is called Carl of the Long Reach of Britannia."

Classicus had disbelieved when he heard the squad's report. "Britannia?"

"Yes, it's inscribed on the stele."

Classicus included the information in his report to the legat: "We got what information we could from the thief then tore him limb from limb and left his body beside the road with the others. The birds and beasts will feed for days."

He wasn't sure how to report the rest of his information because it seemed too far fetched, but he did so anyway. "The rest of the story is hard to believe, but I pass it on as we heard it from both the emissaries and the brigand. Carl of the Long Reach had X men plus assistants and a trader, the emissary named Alexander who carried messages and documents sent by Senator M. Aurelius Pontus. II of his men are dead and II plus an assistant are badly wounded. They may not live. They are obviously trained troops guarding the messages and baggage, though it is hard to believe that so few could kill so many.

"We confirmed that the brigand chief was Salitarius. The captive said the gang was wiped out except for the II who escaped. Carl has removed a thorn from Rome's side."

Indeed he had. Salitarius had been a difficult bandit to track down. Familiar with the rugged country, he easily escaped Roman soldiers or auxiliaries sent to capture him. He had grown rich on the busy trade route even as Classicus and his superiors had grown frustrated.

Carl had solved a major problem, but, because he was barbarian, he created another one if the unusual wounds were more than a figment of a bandit's imagination. He would bear watching.

Classicus' report of the events went to Legatus Cn. Sentius Saturninus, who dutifully prepared his report to Emperor Tiberius. After getting past the obsequies, he reported the incident without fanfare, concluding, "Carl is not to be feared, despite destroying the brigands, for he has only VII commandos, as he calls them, who are without severe injuries. He has already passed through this region to Judea on a spiritual quest, so it is reported.

"There is one thing of note. It is reported that V men were killed by Carl personally without arrow, pike, or sword. I do not know what weapon was used, though it left pieces of lead in the bodies of the brigands, as one of my men found. I can learn what it is if you desire that I follow up on such a tale. He should be in Lebanon and Judea II or III weeks. I am not sure if he plans to return this way or sail from Judea when the season opens. He is traveling with Alexander Giacumakis, who carries an official letter from Senator M. Aurelius Pontus to accompany official documents from the Palatine.

"The courier method seems unorthodox but perfectly legitimate, and it allowed the documents to get through safely. As you know, the brigand Salitarius had attacked our couriers with impunity, forcing us to provide escorts across Cappadocia and Celicia. Now we can reduce that expense."

Fortunately for Carl the letter was not immediately sent to Rome. Two weeks passed as a clerk held it to send with two other reports that were still being prepared.

                             ______________________

When they reached the hotel, Alexander emphasized to the manager that the Britons had almost totally destroyed a group of bandits less than twenty miles north of the city, a group that was twice the size of their caravan. "I myself saw Carl of the Long Reach, as he is called in Britannia, kill five men in order to protect his warriors from being massacred by the bandits. He was beyond reach of arrows when he killed them. He sees very far, and he kills from afar. That's how he gets his name."

The manager was visibly impressed, which was the purpose of the tale. Alexander did not explain how he killed men from such a distance, but then, he wasn't sure.

They left one man and an aide with the wounded men to provide food, entertainment, and protection.

While in the baths, Carl told Alexander he would be leaving him at Antioch since that was the city where Aurelius' official message was to be delivered and Alexander would make arrangements to send Imperial purpura to Rome. "I'll go to Maaloula in Syria and then," he said, "if necessary, through Damascus to Jerusalem.

"Raphael may be in Maaloula if he has killed the Christ, since that is his birthplace, and I am sure he will try to visit it before returning to Messalina."

"If he isn't there?"

"I'll continue on to Jerusalem to see what has happened to the Christ, if anything. I really don't believe Raphael will be able to kill him, but I've been wrong before."

"If he has killed the Christ, and you find him, what will you do?"

Carl shook his head. "I will be devastated because I saved him from dying in a river, and Rebecca saved him from dying from an infection. If we had not saved him, he would not be able to kill the Christ. In addition, I like him, and his skills have been necessary in building Long Reach. But I believe I would kill him if he kills the Christ."

Alexander mused while he soaked up the heat of the pool. "Why do you hesitate? I can see how you might not want to kill a friend, but if he has betrayed you and your religion, what else can you do?"

"Believe it or not, I should forgive him, since that is what Jesus preaches. On the other hand, I think in this case only God can forgive him. He is a just and righteous God, and if Raphael has killed the Prince of Peace, then he has condemned mankind to enmity with God.

"In the New Testament," he continued, then realized Alexander had no idea what that was. "In our holy book, the apostles report that Jesus is condemned by Pilate but at the behest of the Jewish leaders. Nevertheless, on the cross he could pray, 'Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do.' I've always taken that to mean the people who had called for his death. But I don't know, maybe it applied to the leaders and even the Roman soldiers. Still, Judas, who betrayed him, did know what he was doing, and so does Raphael for his own religion calls Jesus a prophet, one above all others but the founder of Islam, so it is not as though he is without knowledge, whether or not he believes Jesus is the Son of God."

He glanced sideways at Alexander, who was staring into the water. I must sound like a madman. He has no context for what I'm saying.  "Anyway, I'll try to find Raphael and then return here.  Can I leave my men in Antioch, where they won't get into trouble or have the Romans on their necks?"

"Yes, of course, but why leave them behind? Will you not need them the remainder of the journey?"

"I don't believe so," Carl responded, "though we've certainly needed them so far."

"Yes, indeed," and Alexander gave a small shake of the head at his remembrance.

                             ______________________

Atheldarius flinched at the rejection. He had pursued the idea of invading Britannia to take back the kingdom Carl had stolen from his father and, thus, from him. But when he approached Veringtrix, king of a large tribe in what would one day become Holland, he was humiliatingly rejected.

"No, Atheldarius," the king had said, "I cannot send warriors to Britannia to recover your kingdom. If I reduce my forces the Roman legions will flood in here and wipe out my kingdom."

Veringtrix dismissed the young warrior, not realizing that he was creating an enemy that would one day help to usurp his throne.

Atheldarius didn't accept the logic of the king. He looked at him with the same hatred he had once looked at Carl. You weakling, he thought to himself. I'll make my own kingdom and then take yours, and then I'll take back what is rightfully mine!

                             ______________________

Cunobelin was impatient. Now was the time to attack Long Reach, at least after the crops were harvested and it was still missing its king. With Carl of the Long Reach in the castle there could be no attempt to attack, but with Queen Rebecca in command, along with generals Morius and Ort, it was a good time to do so. If the Catuvellauni controlled Fortress Long Reach, then even the return of Carl would result only in his death by garroting.

But the Catuvellauni had no experience in siege warfare. The few hill forts of any extent in the country served to keep most tribes at bay. No one feared a siege.

Cunobelin had built ladders for a month; now there were enough to mount a grand scaling of the fortress walls. But he did not have heavy ballestrae for battering down fortress walls which, in any case, as his spies had reported, were almost impervious to such an attack.

He sought information from kin folk on the continent, from those more familiar with Roman siege tactics, but their advice was appallingly simple. "Starve out the inhabitants and devastate their land, use crops as forage and animals as feed for the warriors. In the end," they assured Cunobelin, "you will prevail."

                             ______________________ 

Carl sought information on Raphael and his two guards, but Tarsus was too large and no one recognized his description. Raphael was, in fact, through the city and beyond Antioch. The ambush had put Carl irretrievably behind him.