When Cornelius was led into the grand Senate chamber by armed soldiers, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursed through his entire body.
According to the calendar of that time, For nearly half a year, Amendolara had been under the yoke of the Lucanians, and Cornelius's life had been nothing short of a waking nightmare. Each day, under the watchful and menacing eyes of his captors, he herded cattle, chopped wood, and hauled supplies. Any sign of weakness or hesitation was met with cruel reprimands—at best, harsh scolding; at worst, beatings or starvation.
Nights were no better. Locked within the Temple of Thunder divine Zeus alongside a thousand of his fellow citizens, he endured squalor unimaginable. The air was thick with the stench of sweat and waste, the cries of children, and the lamentations of the despairing. The space was cramped, the food scarce, and the spirits of the people crushed. Illness and death were constant companions, claiming lives daily.
