Scipio's End by Martin Tessmer

Author:Martin Tessmer [Tessmer, Martin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dancing in Chains Productions
Published: 2018-08-18T04:00:00+00:00

VIII. Cat and Mouse

ANTIOCHIA, PHYRGIA,[clx] 191 BCE. Antiochus flings another grape at Zeus’ head. The grape flies across the house-sized throne room and bounces off the statue’s marble eyebrow. It rolls off the head and splats onto the marble tile floor. Antiochus rises from his eight-foot granite throne and jerks up his fist.

“That’s four of six!” he crows at Zeuxis, his commander in chief. He pulls out a gold coin. “I wager I can make it five of seven!” Zeuxis does not respond. The hawk-faced king picks another grape from his attendant’s silver tray.

Hannibal sits to the right of Antiochus, perched on a tufted maroon settee. He toys with a papyrus scroll that contains the king’s waiting list. His concentration is waning. He’s getting bored from meeting with all these leaders. He smirks. This next one should interest him.

“Who is next?” Antiochus asks Zeuxis. The grizzled warrior consults his papyrus scroll. “Judoc, chieftain of the Galatians.”

“Send him in,” Antiochus orders. The guards open the throne room’s iron doors.

A red-haired giant stalks into the room, glowering at Antiochus’ guards. The man’s head is crowned with a domed silver helmet that sprouts twin bull’s horns. His right hand clutches his favorite weapon, a short-handled pickaxe that he has found perfect for puncturing helmets.

The captain of the guard grabs Judoc’s leg-sized forearm. “No weapons.”

Judoc shoves him sideways. The guard stumbles backward. Blushing with embarrassment, the Syrian yanks out his curved sword. Judoc turns and faces him, his axe arm cocked. He grins, his left hand beckoning the guard.

“You going to stop me, little man?”

The guards swallows. He shuffles forward, eyeing the pickaxe.

“Here now, no bloodshed!” Zeuxis scurries over and interposes himself between the two men. “All visitors must leave their weapons in the hallway, Chief Judoc.”

The Galatian’s ham-sized fist tightens on his weapon. Hannibal smiles, enjoying the drama.

Zeuxis unstraps his sword belt and gives it to the guard. “Look, I give mine up, too!”

The red-bearded colossus eyes Zeuxis speculatively. He hands his pickaxe to Zeuxis. “You a chief, you keep for me.” He jerks his thumb at the guard. “I kill that one, he touch me again.”

Antiochus drums his fingers on his throne’s gilded arm. Galatians! They’re as crazy as their Gallic cousins. “Approach.”

Judoc takes three steps and halts in front of Antiochus. The king steps down to him, extending his hand. Judoc grips the king’s sinewy forearm, his hoary fingers completely encircling it. Antiochus gapes at the gigantic hand. Gods, he is a man and a half! I hope he has a thousand more like himself.

Judoc taps the top of his gold neck torus. “I come pledge men to you.” He declares in his pidgin Greek. “I bring ten thousand: five sword and five horse.” His blue eyes flare beneath his rust red brows. “We kill many for you.”

Antiochus nods. “Good, good, that is good to hear. In return, I will give your tribes the highlands of Phyrgia. And a big share of all plunder.” He points to the hallway. “Go and make your mark on the contract.

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