Memorias de vampiro libro VIII

 

Warning: This is an –M– Chapter, but not for what you are thinking, this time the vampire chapter is a little cruel. So, you are warned. 

 

A/N: I based this chapter in the amazing novel by Santiago Posteguillo “Las Legiones Malditas” (The Cursed Legions) about the life of Scipio the Africanus and his war against Hannibal Barca. As always, all the info about Vampires is based in White Wolf’s Vampire the Masquerade.

 

FIELD OF GLORY Pt I

 

How strong a will

How long to kill

The Vampire's out to play

He's going for his prey

How wise the decisions

How clear of a mind with perfect precision

The aim it will find

Removing a tyrant

The vampire on its track

(Rammstein, Vampire)

 

Sicily, 205 B.C.

 

You may think that being a vampire is absolutely great: we don’t age, we don’t die and we have such extraordinary abilities that some call us “gods.” Yes, that all is good but, when one doesn’t age, you face another problem, just as: how to explain this to the rest of the mortals that surround you? Some Children of Kaine choose to live completely apart from the mortals, some made their havens in graveyards, others dwell in forests, caves, mountains or jungles like wild animals… but many others, like me, choose the hard way: to coexist with mortals.

 

The best example of this are the members of the Ventrue clan, like Camilla, the one who controlled Rome since the early days of the Republic to the ultimate fall of the Empire.

 

As I told you, I stayed at my Sire’s haven, in what is now Bulgaria, during my first years of no-life, after that, I returned to Pella but I had to travel a lot if I didn’t want to raise suspicious about me. From time to time I like to be alone, living in the most isolated places but, other times, I crave for human contact. Many members of my clan, Tzimisce, only look for humans when they want to “experiment” with them. I won’t deny it, I have done that too…after all you can’t learn Vicissitude without practice, and I have done things that would make you faint. Never forget that, now, I am a Demon.  

 

That year, 205 B.C. found me in Sicily, I had a very lucrative business importing goods from the Kingdom of the Parthians; in my mortal days’ was called the Persian Empire. I knew the zone, as you can well imagine, so it didn’t took me long to find safe routes.  I only treated with Greeks and Romans, I never made business in Carthage even if my partner insisted on it tirelessly, after all, what better market than the Carthaginian?     

 

But you know what happened to me in that Phoenician city. I never liked it as I don’t like the members of the Brujah clan, the ones who control Carthage. As you can well imagine, both vampire clans: Brujah and Ventrue hated…hate, each other, and I can assure you that the Punic wars started thanks to this hatred and rivalry. What? Do you really think that vampires, immortals as we are, never mix with human politics? Think again, many of the great wars started because a Child of Kaine was involved. 

 

But again, I’m changing the subject. At that time, I was only 150 years old, it had been only a little more than one century since I died in Ecbatana, and I hadn’t met Anaxagoras yet, Lucius wasn’t born, and it will have to pass another thousand years before Eric opened his eyes in this world.

 

I was alone, but I was fine with it.

 

That night of April I was in bed with one of the richest men that were left in Syracuse, after the extremely long and cruel siege the Romans had put on the city 7 years ago under the orders of General Marcus Claudius Marcellus. That was a pretty famous siege thanks to Archimedes, a very clever Greek mathematician, physicist, engineer, inventor, and astronomer who created several artifacts to keep the Roman ships away from the walls of his city. Sadly, a Roman Legionary killed him by mistake. 

 

— You have to go already? –asked Icetas, kissing Hephaistion’s naked back. His perfect skin, always cold, was addictive and the Syracusain couldn’t take his hands off him.

 

The Macedonian smiled. He had been seeing Icetas for a month now, and even if he wasn’t the smartest man on the planet, the Syracusain was attractive and, in Hephaistion’s words, he entertained him, worshiping him almost as if he were the incarnation of a God. The Tzimisce could not complain. 

 

— You were the one who arrived late tonight and I have things to do –he stood up as if he were a King dismissing a subject, leaving a very horny Icetas behind. The Macedonian never spent the whole with him, why would he? He didn’t considered Icetas important enough.

 

— I couldn’t come earlier –said the Syracusain puffing out, rolling to rest on his back among the sheets of that soft bed—It was the Roman Consul’s fault –he let his eyes admire Hephaistion’s wonderful body while he got dress. 

 

— What Roman Consul? Caecilius Metellus? –Icetas saw, spellbound, how the fine fabric of the Macedonian’s chiton slid through his body, covering him, slowly, caressing his skin and making Icetas’ body burn again. 

 

— N-no –he said as soon as he could speak again—The new Consul, Publius Cornelius Scipio; he called an assembly of all the knights in the city, I included of course. Apparently, he wants to invade Africa and was looking for a suitable cavalry squadron to help him against the Carthaginians.

 

Hephaistion froze.

 

That name –he thought. The face of his friend, dead now for a hundred years, came to him. 

 

— And, are you going with him to Africa? –asked the Macedonian, brushing his long hair with his fingers, pretending that this conversation didn’t matter to him more than next day’s weather.

 

— Of course not!, we agreed to train his men and give them our horses and equipment –said Icetas, outraged—Can you imagine? I? Fighting for the same Romans that plundered our city and took our works of art to Rome?

 

Hephaistion said nothing; he couldn’t care less about that.

 

— Did the Consul only come looking for a cavalry squadron? –he wanted to know.

 

— No, in fact, he came looking for the Cursed Legions –explained the Syracusain. 

 

— The what? –Hephaistion turned to look at him.

 

— You have never heard of the Roman Legions defeated by Hannibal at the battle of Cannae? –asked Icetas, amused that, for once, he knew something the Macedonian ignored.

 

— I heard of that battle.

 

Who hasn’t? –thought Hephaistion. The battle where Hannibal defeated 8 Legions, an army of almost 80,000 men with only 40, 000. He had even heard people who claimed that, this victory at Cannae, was even superior to Alexander’s victory at Gaugamela…He had his doubts.  

 

— Well –the Syracusain sat on the bed, not bothering to cover his nakedness—The Legions that survived that day are the V and the VI, now known as the Cursed Legions, and they were exiled here, near Lilibaeum. My father told me that they can’t return to Italy until Hannibal is defeated.

 

Hephaistion smiled.

 

Until Hannibal is defeated –he thought. It had been 13 years since the Carthaginian crossed the Alps and no Roman army had been capable of defeating him. 

 

— And if these Legions are exiled, why is the Consul looking for them? –now the Macedonian was curious.

 

— Ah! Scipio defeated Hannibal’s brother, Hasdrubal, in Hispania, and now he is planning to take the war to Carthage –Icetas explained—He wants to invade Africa but, I heard, the Senate didn’t agree that this is the best course of action, they insist in fighting Hannibal on Italian soil, and, at the end, they agreed to let the Consul come here, but without the Consular Legions. So, he is going to use the Cursed Legions and every volunteer he can get.

 

This Scipio is more and more interesting; maybe I should meet him –thought the Macedonian amused.

 

XXX

 

Sometimes, Hephaistion liked to forget what he had become; sometimes he liked to think that he was immortal but that nothing more had changed. It was true, he couldn’t go out in the sunlight, but by now he was used to it, he had more time existing as a Child of Kaine than as a mortal, and he had stopped longing for the warmth of the day. But, it was at times like this, when he saw the blood running freely at his feet, covering the floor of this small and hidden room in the basement of his house, that reality struck him with the same ferocity of an enemy sword. 

 

He was not the same Hephaistion that once had rode at the side of his beloved King, now, there was something else living inside him, a strange force, voice, need, urge…that whispered at night, sometimes, softly almost like a lover, others shouting, demanding. Now he knew that this was called “the Beast”, the curse of every vampire, the need to kill, to taste blood, to became a remorseless predator. 

 

He was sitting on a wooden chair, his arms resting on his thighs, his hair loose, falling at each side of his face. In front of him was a man, arms chained to the wall behind him, his whole body covered in clean wounds, terrible, made by someone who knew what he was doing with cold surgical precision. He was moaning in pain, and the blood running through his wounds, not enough to kill him, frightened him, seeing how his life escape from him little by little. 

 

— You don’t let me think –whispered Hephaistion with calm, tired of hearing the moans and shouts of the man in front of him. He looked directly at him and attached the skin of his lips to silence the man.

 

Now I’m a Tzimisce, and as I said, you can only learn Vicissitude with practice. All of us, the Children of Kaine, hear the voice of the Beast, but its more difficult for some clans to ignore it. I always feel better after drinking blood, and, about my experiments…well, I enjoy them more than I like to admit, and because of this, I try to avoid them, I don’t want that, when Alexander wakes up, he find a monster. 

 

Hephaistion heard footsteps and knew it was his ghoul, Dion. He approached carefully, knowing his master didn’t like to be interrupted, but he had an important message. 

 

— What is it? –asked the Macedonian without looking at him, and his ghoul kneeled at his side. Hephaistion wasn’t cruel to him, but, when he was in this dark mood, it always scared him.

 

— Master, you have a message from the Roman Consul –that caught Hephaistion’s attention.

 

— Let me see it –Dion handed him a letter, feeling extremely uneasy in the presence of the poor man in chains and bleeding a few paces from them.

 

The Macedonian saw the seal, taking his time before opening the letter. He found a neat and clear handwriting, probably the work of a clerk but, the signature at the end was what made him smile, a sweet smile that looked terrible out of place in this scenario.

 

I had planned to look for a chance to meet Scipio, but he found me first. He requested my presence in his house as soon as possible, and those words made me smile. Technically, I was in no obligation of obeying him, not even if Sicily was now under Roman rule, but I was curious.

 

— Who brought this? –asked Hephaistion, without looking at his ghoul.

 

— A slave, master. 

 

— Is he still here?

 

— Yes master, he was ordered to wait for your answer –said Dion at once.

 

— Good, tell him –the Macedonian folded the letter—I’ll go tomorrow night.

 

His ghoul bowed his head and left, grateful that he no longer had to be in the same room with that poor bastard with his lips attached. Dion had seen other ghouls with Tzimisce masters, and he couldn’t complain, he didn’t, Tzimisce were cruel and liked to deform his ghouls into creatures of nightmares, but Hephaistion was even kind with him. But, he was always careful to not enrage his master.

 

Next night, I walked to Scipio’s house at Syracuse, thinking really hard what could he possibly want with me. The entire city knew two things about me: that I was very rich and that I had a very “scandalous” sexual behavior. For a moment, I considered the possibility that maybe the Consul wanted to meet me because of my so renowned beauty, but I dismissed the idea almost as quickly as I had summoned it.

 

Hephaistion was admitted inside a beautiful house, the steward didn’t lose time and took him to his master’s study, asking him to wait there. He didn’t mind, on the contrary, that gave him time to walk around the place and get an idea of what kind of person he was. It had been a while since the last time he was so interested in someone, and, as his eyes wandered through the multiple scrolls arranged in baskets and wall niches, his mind recalled his friend again and again: the little time they had spent together and the many letters Scipio had sent to him for over a decade of military campaign in Asia.

 

It had been so long since he thought about his friend with this intensity…

 

What kind of man would be this Scipio? He had heard so many things, about his conquests and victories in Hispania, the epic battle for Carthage Nova where the now Consul, at his 25 years old, took the city in just 6 days with only 2 Legions. The kind of achievement that only his beloved King was capable of.

 

From what he could see, this Scipio was also an admirer of the theater, there were many works of Greek playwrights in his study, but, on his desk was an opened roll containing the last work of the Roman playwright Plautus.

 

— Miles Gloriosus –he read aloud. Hephaistion smiled. He had heard of that play and had made him laugh to tears, remembering Ptolemy, because it was the story of a braggart soldier that always exaggerated his deeds.

 

— Do you like that play? –a man asked from the threshold.

 

The Macedonian raised his head and felt a knot in his stomach. It was his friend Scipio…no, this man was taller, stronger and more handsome, but, his voice, his blue eyes, his hair…everything was as he remembered it. That made him feel a knot in his throat.

 

— I've never had the pleasure of seeing it –he answered, concealing his emotions—But I have heard of it. 

 

Publius Cornelius Scipio, Senior Consul of Rome and conqueror of Hispania, walked to him.

 

— You may have the opportunity of enjoying this play –the Macedonian frowned—Plautus is coming to Syracuse with his company, I asked him to perform for my Legions at the theater built by Hiero II.

 

— You are the Roman Consul.

 

— And you are Hephaistion son of Amyntor –Scipio smiled—I have heard many things about you. 

 

— So do I –said the Macedonian, watching him intensely—May I ask, why am I here? 

 

Scipio didn’t answer immediately, he took his time to choose the right words, and that made Hephaistion smiled with nostalgia.

 

— Have a seat, please –said the Roman after a moment—Do you know what am I doing here? 

 

— I heard rumors –the Macedonian sat down with languid sensuality, every movement natural, smooth and absolutely delicious, from head to toe he radiated a heat that made him irresistible, and Scipio understood why so many people fell into his charms, it was so easy to get lost in the length of his legs.

 

— What rumors? –Hephaistion tried to not smile, it was clear that the Consul was making an effort to hide the desire burning inside him. It was so cute, the Macedonian found him fascinating and soon he started to think if he would be able to seduce him.

 

— That you are training the Cursed Legions to take the war to Africa –he answered, his voice was like a caress and, this time, he smiled watching how he was making the Consul uncomfortable.

 

Scipio cleared his throat.

 

— You are well informed –he said and Hephaistion almost applauded him. The Roman did a great job hiding his nervousness—I’m planning to take my Legions to Africa but I’m facing a problem and I was told that you can help me. 

 

The Macedonian raised his eyebrows slightly.

 

— And how can I help you? –Scipio swore that question sounded terribly hot with a strong double meaning, and soon he felt like a fool. He was the Senior Consul of Rome, not a foolish teenager, and he was letting Hephaistion play with him.

 

— I need ships to take my men to Africa, I have a small fleet with me but it’s not enough –said the Roman—And no matter who I ask, every person mentioned your name –the Macedonian nodded slowly—You’ll be rewarded for your services, of course. 

 

— I don’t need gold, Consul –he said, his dark gray eyes on the walls—What I need is a reason of why should I help you.

 

Scipio wasn’t expecting this and he frowned, after all, what kind of man decline gold in exchange of a reason?

 

The dangerous type –he thought.

 

— You mean…—Scipio chose his words carefully— Because you are Macedonian and Rome is at war with your King.

 

— Philip is not MY King –Hephaistion replied, irritated, looking directly at him and taking the Roman aback—I can be Macedonian but I don’t agree with many of the things that Philip is doing –he made a pause to regain his calm—What I mean is this –he leaned to the front—I know the Senate is not backing you, that is why you need my help to take your men to African coasts, everybody knows that Hannibal had killed 3 Roman Consuls so far, including the powerful Marcellus who took Syracuse, and no one had defeated him yet, so, I ask you again, why should I help you?

 

Scipio understood perfectly well the question, and this time, he held his gaze, leaning to the front.

 

— Because I am the only one who can defeat Hannibal, because I have never been defeated on the battlefield and I would never be –even if his heart hadn’t beat in more than once hundred years he felt a strong heat inside him. That force, the look in those blue eyes and the intensity of his words reminded Hephaistion of Alexander.

 

The Macedonian nodded slowly and now, it was his time to clear his throat.

 

— I believe you, and I’ll help you.

 

— Good.

 

Of course I was going to help him that gave me a great pretext to be closed to him. I missed my friend and this Scipio was so much like him that I couldn’t avoid wanting to know more about him, to be closed to him. I hated to be alone, I miss my lover, my family, my friends, and Scipio was a balm for my never-ending pain, to my bleeding heart...

 

— How was everything at Locri? –asked Hephaistion, months after his first encountered with the Roman Consul. He was invited to have dinner with Scipio after the Roman returned from South Italy. That was always a problem for a vampire, but the Macedonian was very good pretending that he could eat… food; the hard part was always after the dinner, and many vampires had to throw up because their death bodies couldn’t process food. 

 

— Harder than I thought –Scipio sighed, hardly paying attention to his slaves, changing the empty dishes around him—I went there to train the VI Legion, to make them regain their confidence in the battlefield, after so many years in exile, and to take back the city from the Carthaginians, but, Hannibal showed up with his whole army.

 

— And?… —the Macedonian was intrigued, if Hannibal had appeared at Locri, how was that Scipio was there, still alive and with his Legions intact.

 

— And, he left.

 

Hephaistion blinked confused.

 

— Why? –the Consul shrugged.

 

— I only know that, I was ready to present battle and, next day, the whole Carthaginian army was gone, like the mist, vanished in the morning –Scipio closed his eyes for a moment— Maybe he saw that this fight wasn’t going to be an easy one, besides, Locri wasn’t worth it.

 

Hephaistion nodded slowly.

 

— Or perhaps he was afraid of the Consular Legions –the Roman frowned.

 

— What do you mean? –asked Scipio with interest.

 

— You said there are 4 Legions in Italy, the 2 you declined in exchange of the Senate’s permission of invading Africa, and the 2 of your fellow consul, Crassus. Am I wrong? –Scipio started to see the Macedonian’s point—If the consular Legions weren’t too far, for Hannibal to stay and fight would be the same as the risk his men to be trapped between 2 Roman armies…and Hannibal is no fool.

 

— No, he is not…—the Roman saw Hephaistion with curiosity, trying to figure out what was hiding behind that beautiful face—How do you know so much about military tactics?

 

— I served in the army –answered the Macedonian with honesty. 

 

— With King Philip?

 

- Yes.

 

I was half lying. I did serve with one King Philip, just not the King Philip Scipio was thinking in that moment.

 

— And why do you hate him so much? –the Roman wanted to know.

 

The conversation was… weird. Scipio’s question could as well be applied to Alexander’s father and, for a moment, I felt a little confused.

 

— Philip is an idiot, he has done nothing more than attack Greek cities wanting to achieve a great victory, but his army has only looted, stolen and destroyed as a band of thieves –said Hephaistion angry—He wants to be remembered as a great King, its like a curse, every Macedonian King after Alexander has lived wanting to be like him…Philips makes me sick. 

 

— That’s why you are living here?

 

— Yes.

 

And no. That was also part true, I was living here because King Philip V, descendant of that nobody Antigonus the One Eye, wanted me to serve in his army, obviously as part of the hetairoi cavalry, and to lend him money. I refused several times, first because I can’t go out in daylight and second, because I would eat my own tongue before serving a man like him. The other reason was, as I said before, because I can’t live for too long in the same place.  

 

— I presume that you were part of the hetairoi cavalry. 

 

— I commanded the hetairoi cavalry –Hephaistion spoke before thinking and the Consul’s surprise was immediate.

 

— You must be a good commander –the Macedonian smiled.

 

— Not everybody thought like that.

 

Scipio left his cup aside, and held Hephaistion’s gaze.

 

— Tell me something Hephaistion; would you go with me to Africa?

 

I desperately wanted to say “yes”. It had been so long since the last time I was on a battlefield, and Scipio had something that reminded me, not only of my Roman friend, but also of Alexander. 

 

— I can’t –said the Macedonian, but the Roman could sense a shadow of sadness in his voice—But…—he leaned closer to Scipio, so close that he could hear the beating of his heart against his lips—Be sure that, if I could, I would gladly fight at the side of General like you. 

 

The Roman was nervous; he was torn between desire and what was the correct behavior of a Consul. Hephaistion could read him as an open book. The Macedonian always found amusing how mortals were so concerned, trapped, with so many social rules and protocols, in that matter, he was happy of not being one of them any more. He just took what he wanted and that was exactly what he did in that moment, he kissed Scipio as nobody had kissed him before and, obediently, lay on his back, languidly, feeling the Roman over him, all his self-control and restrain forgotten after that first kiss. 

 

I helped Scipio to get to Africa and, as a reward, he gave me the Roman citizenship. I can’t complain, thanks to him I had a place to go after the fall of Macedonia. I slept with him several times and I saw him twice after his outstanding victory at Zama... But, that was years later. 

 

XXX

 

New York, 2011

 

— Why did you do that? –asked Zophiel. She didn’t understand quite well the Macedonian’s motives. 

 

— What? Sleep with Scipio? –Hephaistion answered with another question, a half smile on his lips.

 

— Yes.

 

— I could give you a thousand reasons starting with the very simple fact that: I liked him, he was a very handsome man and, as Lucius always likes to remind me, I have no problem sleeping with whoever I want –the Macedonian made a pause—But, I slept with him not only because of a carnal desire, I did it because he reminded me of Alexander: both young, brilliant on the battlefield and full with confidence…and I miss him. 

 

Hephaistion made a pause and Zophiel could see he was making an effort to not cry. She decided to change the subject.

 

— What happened then? –she asked.

 

XXX

 

Just a few months after the Consul had gone to fight in Africa, I had to go to south Italy to solve a few problems with one of my ships, and then, one night I had a very peculiar meeting…

 

All vampires like to feel the thrill of the hunt, each one of them have their own particular way of choosing a prey and stalking it, Hephaistion liked to choose difficult preys, his clan didn’t have the weakness of the Ventrue, and he could drink from whoever he choose, but, in this, he was like the members of the Toreador clan, he liked to drink from beautiful people. 

 

That night, was an unusual cold one, and for once he just wanted an easy prey, he wasn’t in the mood for a challenge. The Macedonian didn’t know what was wrong with him, he had been in a terrible mood since Scipio left and, after reading his last letter where the Consul told him that he had now to his disposal the Numidian cavalry of Prince Masinissa, he had been feeling a little sad.

 

Maybe, it’s because I’m so used to do as I want that, the fact that I’m not able to follow him makes me feel like this –he thought—Great, a sentimental Tzimisce –he smiled.

 

Soon he found a group of men talking near the harbor and one of them caught his attention. Hephaistion was waiting among the shadows until the man turned and he caught his gaze. He was still young and hadn’t mastered the use of Disciplines such as Presence to lure a mortal without making eye contact. He had much to learn. 

 

It took him just a few seconds and the man walked to where he was. Hephaistion smiled and started to walk, turning now and then over his shoulder to be sure that he man was still behind him, until they reached a lonely and dark alley. Not his ideal location, but it would have to do. He let the man kissed him, and he slid his cold lips through his cheek, going down looking or his neck, he could feel the savage beating of the man’s heart and that aroused every fiber of his body.

 

Suddenly the tip of the Macedonian’s sharp fangs brushed his delicate skin, like a caress, before sinking them to taste the blood. The man shouted with all his strength but not in pain, but in pure pleasure. For Hephaistion, his blood was delicious and every inch of his body reacted so intensely that, for a moment, he thought he wasn’t going to be able to stop, but he had made a promise, not to kill if he had the chance, and this night the voice of the Beast was silenced, so he would spare the man’s life.

 

He left his prey in the alley, after liking his wounds to heal them, and went back to his house. Whoever found this man, laying against the cold wall, would think he was drunk, there was no way in which someone would think that something else had attacked him, and that thought pleased Hephaistion.

 

I can’t care less about the vampire sect known as the Camarilla, but if there is something I have to admit is that, their sacred rule of the Masquerade, is truly useful, there is nothing worst that having a horde of scared and angry mortals behind you…and before you ask, yes, that happened to me, during the Dark Ages.

 

His ghoul Dion followed him with a torch, when…

 

— Are you Hephaistion son of Amyntor? –asked a man of dark skin in very accented Greek.

 

The Macedonian stopped at the middle of the harbor and turned, Dion turned, watching the newcomer with distrust. Even the ghoul knew the members of the clan Brujah wasn’t very happy knowing that his master had helped the Romans to get to Africa. Could this man have been sent by them? He was tensed. 

 

— Yes, and who are you? –he didn’t know this man.

 

— My name is Maharbal, I want to hire your ships to go to Africa –said the stranger, walking to him.

 

Lately, everybody wants to go to Africa –thought Hephaistion intrigued. 

 

— And why do you want to go there?

 

— To fight a war, young man –said another man, approaching them. Tall, with dark skin and a patch covering his right eye.

 

Young man –thought the Macedonian amused. It was extremely difficult to guess a vampire’s apparent age, and Hephaistion, for what the newcomers could see, could have had from 20 years old to 35.

 

— And you are? –asked the Macedonian with calm.

 

— Hannibal Barca –up went Hephaistion’s eyebrows in surprise. He had heard so many things about him, good and bad, the Romans fear him as if the Carthaginian were the bogyman, a demon who seek the blood of each and every Roman, and now, there he was, standing in front of him like any other man of 44 years old—I know that you are the one who helped the Romans, and now I want you to help me.

 

The Macedonian smiled.

 

— And what do I gain?

 

— I can pay you for your services, of course –that answer made the Macedonian laugh.

 

— You make me look like a whore –he said amused, brushing his hair back—I don’t need your gold, and I can assure you that the Romans didn’t pay me either.

 

— You are Macedonian –exclaimed Maharbal, Hannibal’s cavalry commander, losing his patience—Your King signed an alliance with Carthage…

 

— PHILIP IS NOT MY KING –Hephaistion was angry now, and angry the shadows appeared to react around him, making Maharbal felt a chill down his back—My King died long ago… —he regretted his words in the same instant he pronounced them. But he had let his feeling speak for him.

 

Hannibal saw him with intensity, he wasn’t an ordinary man but he couldn’t explain with words what was he.

 

— You have a peculiar name –said the Carthaginian General after a long and uncomfortable moment of silence.

 

— I know, it’s Athenian, from the temple…

 

— No –Hannibal interrupted him— Like one of the Great Alexander’s Generals.

 

Those words left the Macedonian speechless. Many people ignored that Alexander had had a General with that name, but everybody remembered Parmelio, Perdikkas and of course, Ptolemy. But he wasn’t surprise, after all he had “died” years before the famous Diadochi Wars, and the victorious of that conflict had written the history of his dear King.

 

— All right –the Macedonian accepted—I’ll help you, after all I’m curious to know who is going to win this war –he smiled mysteriously and Maharbal wished he hadn’t, there was something in this man that gave him the creeps.

 

This was what Scipio wanted, and, as he had predicted, as soon as his Legions obtained the first victories on African soil, the Carthaginians summoned Hannibal back to defend them. And what about me? Well, I left Sicily to attend to Scipio triumph in Rome, stayed there for a while but, when I heard that King Philip V had died and his son Perseus, as soon as he was crowned King, declared the war on Rome, I went back to Macedonia.

 

TBC…

 

XXX