The Lotus Eaters

Hamilcar shrugged. 'I hadn't given it a lot of thought. I mean, I'm only ten. But . . . maybe . . .'

'Yes?'

'Well, a lot of the women and girls are pretty. Couldn't some of the guards use wives . . . or second wives?'

'That's one set of possibilities. But what about the kids?'

'I'm not sure,' the boy admitted. 'Dad sent me with several mule loads of gold and silver. Already coined, even. Can I maybe pay some of Alena's people to raise the kids in fosterage. The languages seem pretty close.'

Cano thought silently for several minutes. 'You want some advice, Ham, since you're going to be living among the tribe for a while?'

'Please.'

'Adopt the lot of them. Then, when you marry a woman or girl off, since she's yours you can be sure she'll be well treated. Same for any little ones you put in fosterage. As for the rest . . .'

'Yes.'

'I'm afraid you're stuck with them. By the way, how did you know which villages to hit?'

Hamilcar sighed. 'It wasn't very brave, I suppose, but the ones who fought back hard we broke off from. I figured if they still had weapons and men they probably hadn't had much part in attacking us. The ones where there were no weapons and men, because they had attacked us, we destroyed and looted. It's why I had to bring the prisoners in. They had nothing left but their eyes to weep with.'

'Good boy,' Cano said, once again reaching out to squeeze the kid's shoulder.

Runnistan, Pashtia, Terra Nova

'I had no idea . . .' Hamilcar's words drifted off in surprise amounting to shock amidst the tremendous amount of fortification in front of them. Sure, he'd seen Cano's and Alena's photo album of the valleys of her people, but those had been pristine. Now?

Bunkers, wire, marked off minefields, machine guns, even a few light armored vehicles sealed the people of the tribe off from any outside contact they didn't want. And it looked as if poisonous Progressivines had been cultivated in places to supplement the barbed wire. Or perhaps the wire was just used where the 'vines couldn't be grown thick.

'Your dad sort of adopted them,' Cano explained. 'Them and, to a lesser extent, the other tribes that formed the Pashtun Scouts during the war here. Add in what they earned and how bloody cheap weapons are . . . and that he passed over to them whatever was too expensive to move once the war was over—mostly over, that is—and the legion pulled out.

'But . . . yeah . . . I didn't expect quite this.'

The long column, now much longer by virtue of the prisoners Hamilcar had taken and the animals he had seized, wound through an S-curve in the wire and mines. Heavy, well-built bunkers housing machine guns and light cannon dominated the road. The guns therein didn't traverse to track the column. They couldn't; the men who manned them were atop the bunkers' roofs crying—

'Iskandr, Iskandr, ISKANDR!'

Hamilcar, rocking in his saddle, waved back. He nodded shy thanks at the heartfelt welcome. To Cano, however, he said, 'It doesn't feel right. I'm not a god.'

'You know that and I know that,' Cano replied. 'What does it hurt what they think?'

Alena said, 'You are both wrong, too.'

A group of young riders, F-26 rifles slung across their backs and lances in their hands, galloped out to meet the point of the column as it emerged from the protective barriers. These men, too, shouted 'Iskandr, Iskandr, Iskandr!' The chant continued as the escort party led the column around a steep hillock and into the valley.

'ISKANDR!' came from seven thousand throats as soon as Hamilcar made his appearance on the other side of the hillock. They bore in their arms offerings, simple things like baskets of Terra Novan olives—gray, wrinkled, astringent, and about the size of an Old Earth plum, or loaves of bread, spits of roasted meat on trays, jars of old wine, some gold and silver, usually finely worked, swords and spears and shields . . . whatever the valleys had to offer that might bring a smile to the face of their god. The escort party joined the mass and then, in a wave, ever man, woman, and child present went to their knees and then their faces.

'This is wrong,' Hamilcar said. 'This is so wrong.'

Alena seemed not to understand. 'What is wrong, Iskandr? You are the Avatar of God. These are your worshippers.'

The boy chewed at his lower lip for a moment, then answered, 'My father says that things like this are just appearances, valuable, sometimes, yes. But dangerous, too, because appearances can blind you to reality.'

He resumed his chewing for a moment then, suddenly, dismounted from his pony and began to walk toward the nearest of the tribespeople. From those nearest he selected the slightest, a little girl not more than two years old, he thought. Reaching the girl, he saw that she was trembling, as if terribly afraid. Hamilcar shook his head, and took one knee in front of the girl. With his hands he gently lifted her to her feet, then stood up, picking her up in his arms as he did. She carried with her a basket of olives.

'Arise,' the boy shouted. 'I would not have my own people debase themselves in front of me. I have no need of slaves, but only of free men and women.' To emphasize the point he took one of the gray olives from the girls basket and took a bite through the wrinkled skin.

Slowly, uncertainly, the people began to rise in a wave washing away from where Hamilcar stood. Somewhere in the middle of the crowd, an old woman shouted out, 'The fifth sign! The fifth sign!'

'Iskandr, Iskandr, ISKANDR, ISKANDR!'