And so for five years he had lived, making the long triangular passage: from London to the coast of Africa, carrying medicine and supplies, from Africa to America, with the slave labor which helped build it, then back again to England with raw materials, and the profits that came from being aggressive, and willing to do what was necessary. It was a lesson he never forgot: injustice there would always be, and a man must look to his own advancement. But then Captain Horne had died, strangled to death by a slave's chain in a ship revolt. The huge, fierce black man had been oblivious to the thrusts of his own knife from behind, his one desire to kill the man in front of him before his own life was ended. This, too, was a lesson he would long remember. The captain had grown less severe with age, and had loosed his grip, just enough, for those he kept under his thumb to rise up and take his life. The moral? Victory must be consolidated by ruthless vigilance. He had shed no tears when order was restored, and his Captain's body returned to the deep. He was simply gone, along with the life that he had come to know so well. And though he might easily have found work on another ship, being then a strong and tireless lad of fifteen, he decided that the rise to power was too slow, and too limited at sea. Real opportunity, in his eyes, lay in the military and political arenas. So when the ship returned to Plymouth, he joined the army as an infantryman, and later forged and sponsored his own commission as officer. At every step he gained the reputation of a fearless soldier, and of a fierce, unyielding leader of men. Such indomitable young lions were much needed in those days of expanding Empire, and could rise quickly to positions of prominence, especially along the frontiers. Nor was he to rise in rank alone, but also in station. After a determined search, he at last found a noble family in ruin, ready to collapse. And through a combination of bribes, extortion, and the threat of violence, he forced the aging and childless Lord to recognize him as his legitimate son, and rightful heir to his name and property alike. The old man died but a few months later, his spirit broken, his body racked by poison. And so he found himself at twenty-nine, his implacable charge taking him to the heights of his profession, swift and sure as an arrow's flight. He had no illusions; he had no dreams; and he could not conceive of anything that would alter his life's course in the least. He believed he knew and understood all that the world held for a man, and did not hold. He knew what he wanted, and he was willing to pay the price.