The main street of Dardan's river valley town was a wide dirt road. Worn smooth by countless footsteps. Wooden, single-story shops lined both sides.
The market district buzzed with noise. It seemed even livelier than half a month ago.
Stalls displayed the domain's newly produced coarse salt. Pottery made by locals. Olive oil. Colorful wool textiles.
The air was thick with smells. The rich scent of freshly baked bread. Fragrant dried herbs. Sweet raisins and dried dates. The mixed odor of livestock and dust. A bubbling stew of life.
Children darted through the crowd like sparrows. Chasing each other. Nearly collided with a loaded donkey cart. The carter shouted a good-natured curse.
Aeneas surveyed the market's wares with pleasure. His mind began calculating. The coarse salt is selling well. Need to expand production... Wait, the pottery designs over there are good. Should talk to the bottle-makers soon. Sketch some new patterns... Maybe just recruit that potter for the estate!
The sun grew hotter. A fine sweat beaded on his temples.
Thaleia noticed almost instantly. She drew a plain white linen handkerchief from her sleeve. Gently dabbed his forehead. Her voice was soft as an early summer breeze. "Young master, you're sweating. The sun is too harsh. Should we find some shade to rest?" Her movements were natural. Intimate. As if she'd done it a thousand times.
Nearby, Melanippe saw it all. Her fingers twitched. Snap. An innocent olive tree branch by the road broke cleanly. The crisp sound drew curious glances from passing merchants. She didn't notice. Just pressed her lips tight. A nameless fire burned in her chest. Tightened her throat.
Ainippe leaned close. Her voice was full of amusement. "Princess, the branch did nothing wrong. Glaring won't scare off the enemy. You need to be proactive. Learn how she tends to him." She watched her princess's sulky posture. Felt both amusement and worry. She just stews in silence. How can she win a good man's heart like this?
Aeneas felt the temperature drop behind him. He quickly pointed to a nearby stall. Tried to change the subject. "Look over there! Our coarse salt and pottery are selling well. Ah, and the 'Nectar of the Gods'. But the market only gets the third-grade stuff. The top two grades... uh... are only in Mother's temple and the estate." He realized he'd slipped up. Scratched his nose awkwardly. Added sheepishly, "I... I have a small cup now and then. Later, back at the estate, you can both try some?"
Nisus's gaze was locked on the way Ainippe carried her bow and arrows.
Euryalus nudged him. Whispered in admiration, "Look at her stance. The line of her shoulders... She's like an archer straight from an Amazon legend. If only we could discuss longbows with her."
Nisus shot him a glare. His thoughts, seen through by his seemingly flippant but sharp brother.
Euryalus snickered. "What? Smitten? Careful, or she'll pin you to a wall with an arrow."
The market remained boisterous. The air flowed with the sweet scent of honey and hot oil.
"Got it! Again!"
A thunderous cheer erupted from one corner of the market. It instantly drew all eyes.
A sandbag toss game stall stood there. Colorful painted clay bowls and a wooden frame were arranged neatly on the ground as targets.
The contestant had to toss small sandbags filled with grain husks. They had to land them in a narrow wooden frame three arm-lengths away. The goal was to get a sandbag to stay inside one of the specially colored bowls.
Prizes were awarded. The crowd around them buzzed with excitement. Dust hung in the air. The smoky scent from a nearby barbecue stall wove through the air. The atmosphere was electric, ready to boil over.
Ainippe's eyes lit up. She immediately nudged Melanippe forward. "Princess, come on! Let's show them an Amazon warrior's aim!"
She turned and winked slyly at Aeneas. "Will the young lord Aeneas try as well? We hear you've been drilling those longbowmen day and night. Surely this little distance isn't a challenge for you?"
Melanippe's competitive spirit ignited instantly. She took the hefty little sandbags. Her gaze sharpened like an eagle's. As if she held not toys, but arrows ready to fly.
A flick of her wrist—Swish! Swish! Swish! Three sandbags traced perfect arcs. Landed unerringly in the farthest bowls. A dull thud for each. Three out of three! Her movements flowed. Like a warrior's dance.
"Bravo!" The crowd erupted into louder applause and cheers.
The stall keeper stared, dumbfounded. Then hurried over with a wide grin. Handed her a prize. A finely crafted painted clay horse.
Aeneas immediately put on an exaggerated look of defeat. Shook his head with a sigh. "Alas! The Amazon warriors live up to their fame! I concede. Fair and square!" He spread his hands. The feigned misery, combined with his sun-gilded black-and-gold curls, looked utterly ridiculous. Drew a wave of good-natured laughter from the crowd.
Melanippe felt a flicker of embarrassment at her own competitiveness. But the corners of her mouth twitched upward despite herself.
Her gaze shifted. Landed on a simply dressed little girl nearby. The child stared with wide, round eyes. Gazing longingly at the painted clay horse in Melanippe's hand.
Melanippe's heart softened. She knelt. Offered the horse to the girl. Her voice held an uncharacteristic gentleness. "For you. May you grow as brave and fearless as an Amazon warrior."
Ainippe watched this. Nodded with a slight smile. Muttered under her breath, "That's more like it. Let him see this side of you. Sulking gets you nowhere."
Melanippe stood up. She began juggling the remaining sandbags with a practiced hand. Her gaze swept past Aeneas. Landed squarely on Thaleia, who stood quietly by his side. Her tone was pure challenge:
"Well? Is no one else going to step up?" She sounded like a proud peacock fanning its tail.
Aeneas was amused by this rare, childish display. But his own eyes were drawn, almost against his will, to the small sandbags flipping through the air.
An idea struck him like lightning. The sandbag? A military sandbag?
This simple little thing... If it were scaled up, filled with earth, stacked layer upon layer... Couldn't it erect a sturdy defensive wall in an instant?
Low-tech, yet hugely effective. A future staple of military encampments everywhere.
Vague memory fragments surfaced. Someone online had once commented that the Roman Empire's greatest strength wasn't its formidable legions or terrifying ballistae. It was its ability to build forts with incredible speed.
When a Roman legion halted at a suitable site, the soldiers would swarm like ants. They rapidly used engineering tools. They'd set up wooden stakes called pila muralia on earthen ramparts. Forming anti-cavalry barriers or palisades. Making it hard for enemies to assault.
Often, by afternoon, a decently defensible camp stood complete. Given enough time, that camp could become an impregnable fortress within a month.
It was this very skill that made Roman legions nearly undefeatable. Allowing a minor Italian power to grow into a vast empire spanning three continents.
Those pila muralia could be perfectly combined with sandbags. Using just readily available sand and hemp cloth, they could quickly raise sturdy camp walls.
"Brilliant! This is...!" The revolutionary insight thrilled him so much he almost trembled. His Adam's apple bobbed as he choked back a triumphant shout.
Thaleia, however, completely ignored Melanippe's challenge.
She simply turned slightly. Poured a cup of water from her leather waterskin. Held it to Aeneas's lips. Her usual gentle, submissive smile played on her lips. "Young master, it's hot. Please have some water."
Her movements were fluid. Natural. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if he were the only person in her sight.
Melanippe gritted her teeth. She sharply turned her head. Spoke to Ainippe in a low voice, her tone brooking no argument. "We're staying in the Dardan lands for a few more days. The mission to retrieve Ainia... can wait."
She was determined to see just how many acts of tenderness this Trojan maid could perform!
I, Melanippe, am a woman too. I can be gentle!
Hmph! Fine! Let's see if I can't capture this Trojan's heart!
Aeneas felt Thaleia's attentive gentleness at his side. And Melanippe's scorching gaze from nearby, hot enough to bore holes through his back. He inwardly wailed:
"Gods... No wonder even Zeus, King of the Gods, fears his wife! This is pure torture!"
But why... deep down, beneath the panic, was there a flicker of damned... pride?
"No, wait. Why does that make me sound like some heartless player?" he protested inwardly. "I haven't laid a hand on either of them — I'm innocent, I swear!"