The other two were Clio and Egil. Both were younger than Jarza but still older than Alpheo. Egil, a man in his late twenties, carried a rugged appearance. His blonde hair, once bright and full of life, had grown dull under layers of dirt and neglect. It was cropped short, more out of necessity than style, to keep it from tangling during the endless labor of each day.
His frame was lean and wiry, a small advantage in a life that demanded constant physical strain. Scars ran across his skin like a map of past torments, each one a reminder of beatings survived and battles endured for the sake of living another day. His eyes were a piercing blue, holding the quiet wisdom that only years of pain could teach
Despite it all, Egil's presence had a strange warmth to it. He was like a brief ray of sunlight breaking through heavy clouds, lifting the spirits of those around him.
Even with their growing bond, Alpheo knew little about the man's past. Egil rarely spoke of himself, offering only fragments of his story when pressed to the stove. From what could be pieced together, he came from a small tribe that had settled on Imperial land.
For a time, he had served as a rider for his people. Then, without warning or explanation, his life had turned upside down. Two years of slavery had since hardened him, yet his pride refused to die. Often, he would boast to the others about his unmatched skill on horseback, speaking with the unshakable confidence of a man who still believed in himself.
Clio, by contrast, was the most unassuming of the group. His short brown hair blended easily with the rest of the camp's worn and weary men. What set him apart was the great wild beard spilling down his chest in unruly strands of brown streaked with silver.
Before chains and servitude, Clio had made his living as a fisherman. Like Jarza, he had been dragged under by debt and sold when he could not pay. His small fishing vessel had been taken from him, leaving him without the means to earn his keep. Though his spirit had been battered by captivity, some trace of the sea's stubborn independence still lingered in the way he carried himself.
"So, did you catch anything?" Egil asked, breaking the silence. His fingers scratched absently at his stomach. Jarza turned his head to look at Alpheo, his gaze expectant.
Clio said nothing, his eyes fixed on the night sky beyond the bars. Yet the quiet rumble of his stomach made it clear that he too was waiting for the answer.
"No luck today, my friends," Alpheo said with a slow shake of his head. "Every cook had an eye on me, and that fat bitch never looks away from the food. You would think the whole army could feed itself from the rolls of meat hanging off her. Fat Bitch"
"Oh," Jarza muttered, lowering his gaze in disappointment.
Alpheo let the silence stretch for a moment before his lips curled into a sly smile. "Or at least, that is what I would be saying if I were not as sneaky as a sewer rat."
With a quick motion, he lifted his shirt to reveal a hard piece of bread pressed against his skin. The reaction was instant. Egil's face lit up with joy and Clio's quiet stare sharpened with interest. Even Jarza's stern features softened.
"I would kiss you if you were a girl, Alph," Egil said as he embraced him.
"Good thing I have a cock then, I know of donkeys whose ass I would prefer to smell, than share your bad breath" Alpheo replied with a smirk. He passed the bread to Jarza, who took it with the solemn pride of a man entrusted with a sacred task. In their little circle, Jarza was known for his strength, and breaking that stubborn crust was a job only he could manage.
The loaf of bread they had was not the soft, warm kind that might come to mind. It was dry and unyielding, the sort meant to feed the masses rather than to be enjoyed.
Anyone foolish enough to bite into it directly would risk chipping a tooth. The only proper way to eat such bread was to boil it in water until it became a lumpy porridge. But that luxury was far beyond their reach, for they had neither water nor fire in their miserable confinement.
Alpheo, being the most agile among them, had developed a small ritual to make the task bearable. Each morning, before the camp stirred, he would shift a large stone close to their cell. In the evenings, they would pull the stone close to the bars and use it to break the loaf into smaller chunks. They would then place the pieces in their mouths and wait for their saliva to soften the hard, tasteless dough.
Only a fool would attempt to eat it whole. Alpheo had once read of a tale where Ottoman camp followers had used pots and hard bread to fend off attackers. The bread's brutal hardness was said to be capable of killing a man with a single blow, much like a mace.
A loud crack echoed through the cell as the loaf split apart, scattering fragments across the gritty ground. Egil let out a low, satisfied hum and reached for a piece, only to have his hand slapped away.
"Well, that was a good meal while it lasted," he muttered, rubbing his knuckles, his eyes still fixed on the scattered crumbs.
Clio turned toward him with a stern expression. "Alpheo was the one who risked himself to steal it, so he eats first," he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.
Egil raised his hands in surrender, muttering something under his breath.
Alpheo crouched and picked up one of the fragments, holding it between his fingers as if it were a rare treasure. His hands trembled slightly as he brought it to his mouth. The coarse bread scraped against his tongue, and his jaw ached instantly from the effort of chewing.
He missed real bread. Grain bread. The kind that bent beneath your teeth and warmed your stomach.
On his first day in chains, he had nearly spat the stuff out, the sharp crumbs scraping his gums like gravel. He had been tempted to throw it away entirely. But hunger was a harsh teacher, and he had learned quickly to endure in silence.
The others followed his lead, breaking off their own pieces and chewing with slow, deliberate effort. Alpheo watched them in silence, noting the way their hands trembled and their eyes softened with gratitude.
When the second piece was gone, he swallowed the last dry mouthful and broke the quiet. "I suppose it is time to reveal the other thing," he said, swallowing hard.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, he opened his palm to reveal the true prize he had stolen earlier that day.