The slaves exchanged uncertain glances as Alpheo's words drifted through the cold air, eyes flicking between him and the towering figure of Jarza. Some nodded in silent agreement, perhaps thinking the young man too green for such talk. Others remained silent, watching the exchange like spectators at a theater, their faces lit with curiosity—their fascination with drama as old as time itself.
Yet amid the shifting looks and low murmurs, one man stood apart, his jaw tight, his face a mask of barely controlled fury. Jarza. The role he had been thrust into—'the strong, the simple, the loud'—was one he despised, yet here he was, being shoved into it once again.
"Alpheo, you little bastard," he thought, his heart boiling. "I'll make you regret this."
Alpheo, calm and unshaken, picked up on the tension in the air, but his voice remained soothing. It was almost maddening. "I believe you're all misunderstanding me," he said, his tone almost musical, as gentle as a lullaby. "I'm not here to declare myself your leader. We need to choose together. A ship built without nails will sink in the sea—what use would it be to lead if my own men mistrust me? Is it not foolish for brothers-in-arms to tear each other apart while the enemy waits outside our gates?"
He turned his attention to Jarza with a confident, almost mocking gesture. "Come, brother, step forward. I assume you wish to nominate yourself, yes?"
Jarza's muscles tensed. He had no choice but to play along. Striding forward with all the strength he could muster, his voice boomed through the camp. "Of course I do. I am the strongest among us. I should lead. We need strength to survive!" His words were full of purpose, but inwardly, he burned with resentment.
His cheeks flushed with anger, embarrassed by the spectacle.
Alpheo, unbothered by the theatrics, moved on, addressing the true issue at hand.
"We likely have riders headed our way, sent by the Emperor himself. Our food supply will last us three days, maybe five if we ration it. Water..." Alpheo hesitated, eyes narrowing. "Well, we can't stay here. This will be the first place our pursuers check. So, brother, what do we do?"
Jarza's mind was already whirring. His lips curled up in a grin, his voice a sharp bark. "There must be farms nearby. We raid them and take what we need!" He punched his palm for emphasis, as if he had just solved their entire dilemma.
Alpheo, ever the voice of reason, answered him with deadly seriousness. "Do that, and we'll be dead by the end of the week. Raiding is out of the question."
Jarza's face twisted in frustration, his teeth clenching. "But if we don't raid, we'll starve!" he thundered, voice rising as he gestured helplessly around them.
Alpheo, however, remained calm, his composure unshaken. "Raiding villages will only draw more attention to us. The local lords will organize expeditions to hunt us down. Even if we evade them, the news of our presence will spread. We won't just face armies; we'll be hunted by angry nobles, furious that their lands are being plundered." He paused, his gaze piercing. "No one likes bandits, we may have luck for the first villages but givem time we will be hanged."
Jarza shot him a look filled with venom, half staged half not "And what would you have us do? Wait for death to come to us instead?" His voice was a thunderclap "I don't want to starve!"
Alpheo took a deep breath, his gaze steady and unflinching. "We have silver. There are people we can buy from."
"But that's our silver!" he growled, fists clenched at his sides.
Alpheo's voice dropped, as if he were speaking to a child. "Would you rather have a few extra coins, only to risk death or enslavement in the mines? Or would you prefer to part with some silver now, and live to spend it later? I know which I would choose." His eyes never left Jarza's, his words sharp and unyielding. "What about you?"
Alpheo, with a small nod, waited for a response. But in that moment, Jarza couldn't or better yet was not to bring himself to argue further.
The next move would be his, but for now, Jarza's pride burned in the silence between them.
"Yeah, he's right. I want to live and spend money, not die with it," one of the slaves spoke up, his voice carrying the quiet hope of many others. The words echoed through the group, and a few murmurs of agreement rippled around the circle.
Alpheo heard the response, his lips curling into a faint but approving smile. "That's the spirit, brother," he said, his voice warm, even as the tension still hung in the air.
He stepped forward, standing tall. "Brothers," he began, his tone growing more resolute, more commanding. "Many of us have suffered for years—whippings, starvation, being treated as less than human. But those days are behind us now. I was the one who orchestrated our escape, the one who led you to freedom. Do any of you think you could have done the same?"
He looked around at the gathered slaves, eyes flicking across their faces. "If so," he continued, his voice now biting with challenge, "come forward. Show me the scars you've earned from this life. Don't be shy. I'll show you mine."
Alpheo unbuttoned his shirt and pulled back the sleeve, revealing the long, angry welts across his skin—reminders of the beatings he had taken to keep his plans hidden, to protect the lives of those who stood here now. His voice softened slightly, a note of reflection in it. "Wanna know where I got these? I earned them in pursuit of this opportunity I now share with all of you."
He looked over them all, watching their eyes flicker away from his scars, feeling their discomfort. "I've been whipped countless times for actions taken months ago, all to pave the way for our freedom."
The silence stretched thick around them, heavy with the weight of his words. He paused, his gaze firm. "If any of you think you're better suited to lead, then speak up now. Who among you thinks they have worked harder than I have? Who among you has sacrificed more for us all?"
The camp was still. No one moved. No one spoke.
Alpheo's voice hardened, a final call to action. "My name is Alpheo. I've spent ten years as a slave. I offer myself as your leader. Who will it be, brothers? Who will lead us to freedom or death?Make your choice and live or die by it..."
The silence stretched on for a moment that felt like eternity, the weight of their choice hanging in the air. Then, from the back of the crowd, a voice rang out.
Egil and Clio, exchanged a glance that spoke volumes. Without a word, they raised their fists high into the air, their voices shaking the earth with their fervor. "Alpheo, the breaker of chains! We want Alpheo!" they cried in unison.
The sound of their declaration echoed through the camp like the first crack of thunder before a storm, and the others hesitated for only a second before the dam broke. Slowly at first, then with growing passion, more and more slaves raised their fists to the sky. "Alpheo, the breaker of chains! We want him!" they shouted, their voices rising with each repetition, a chorus of defiance, a battle cry that swelled into something powerful and undeniable.
One by one, each man raised his arm. The chant reverberated across the camp, the sound becoming louder, stronger, a deafening roar of hope. It was no longer just a chant; it was a declaration of will, a statement of what they had all been waiting for.
Alpheo stood among them. His chest swelled with pride, not just for himself, but for them—for this was the moment he had dreamed of. The first real step toward what he had always believed he was destined for. The first stone in the mountain he would build.
As the chant died down, Alpheo raised his hand, stilling the crowd. The last echo of his name faded, but his words would carry them further than they ever imagined.
"Be it," he said, his voice firm and unwavering. "I accept your request with an oath. I promise to never betray you. I will spill my own blood to lead you to live fulfilling, long lives."
The response was instantaneous, a thunderous roar of approval. The fists in the air, the unity, the strength—it was everything Alpheo had worked for, everything he had dreamed of.
He was no longer just a man. He was their leader now. And the 530 men around him, they were his army. His first army.
And this was only the beginning.