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came next had been a walk. A long walk. A hot long walk…with blisters. It was all made a great deal worse by the fact that none of the boys, Ham included, knew how to keep up. Thus, it had been mile after mile of stop, march in place, run, run faster, stop, bump into the boy in front of you, stop, run, run, dammit…
    Where they’d ended up even Ham didn’t know, and it was probably his family’s property. What it looked like though: banana plants and palm trees at the edges of the few open areas. For the rest, bare dirt at ground level and some other, a lot of other, stouter trees growing up from that, with their branches intertwined overhead, blocking out direct sunlight.
    Apparently Carrera or his chief for cadet training, the Volgan, Sitnikov, had been very firm that the boys were not to be hit, starved, or kept from sleeping more than two days in a row. But the food… Ham looked down at the unappetizing mess slopped on the metal plate resting on his knees and wondered, Is this food? He sniffed, carefully. Doesn’t smell rotten, anyway. Doesn’t actually smell like anything at all. My mother or my sister or my wives or, least of all, Alena the Witch, would never have given me something like this to eat.
    I miss my womenfolk. But I am Hamilcar Carrera, son of Patricio, and I will not cry.
    He sniffed again at his evening meal. Unappetizing or not, nothing better is going to be forthcoming. I suppose I’d better eat it.

    Casa Linda, Balboa, Terra Nova

    Meals at the casa had always had an odd, military aspect to them. Purchased as a run-down and abandoned old pile, it had entered modern life as a staff headquarters and barracks. It had served in that capacity while Carrera and his men had been planning and putting together the first increment of the legion, the one that fought the initial campaign in Sumer. It had since gone through various other renditions. Currently, it was mostly civilian, but with two hundred of Hamilcar’s in-laws as guard, in barracks outside, it still had a strong military aspect to it, at least out on the grounds and at the doors.
    Even inside, though, with the presence of Tribune Cano, his wife, Alena the Witch, and Ham’s dozen wives, Artemisia McNamara and her brood, plus the domestic staff, the sheer numbers demanded a more than ordinary degree of organization, one highly reminiscent of a military organization. Thus, one might say there was an officers’ mess, where Carrera, Lourdes, and Artemisia, the widow of Sergeant Major McNamara, took their meals, along with, usually, Lourdes’ major domo. Then there was a staff mess, for the maids and cooks and groundskeepers, along with any of the guards on duty inside the house, as a few invariably were. Then there was the children’s dining room, which had originally been the sole dining room, but had been specialized once Ham came back accompanied by his wives.
    Alena and her husband supervised that mess, and Ham’s sisters, naturally enough, gravitated to the other girls who were not, in any case, all that much older. And besides, Ham’s wives spoiled Julia and Linda rotten, something always appreciated.
    They all spoiled Alena’s child, Dido, as the only real baby on the premises. That last was currently engaged in her own feed, courtesy of Alena’s abundant breasts. Cano, seated at the opposite end of the table, was reminded, And how can man die better…?
    Ant looked up from an empty plate as Alena was switching her baby off. “May I be excused?” she asked.
    “Surely, child, run along.”
    Neither Cano nor his wife, both quite intent on Dido, noticed that Ant left with several packages of crackers concealed in the folds of her native costume. On the other hand, if she had noticed, Alena would likely have guessed the reason and thoroughly approved.
    * * *
    Ant didn’t know quite how far her husband’s father’s powers stretched, only that they were immense, far above any of the chieftains of any of the clans of her own