Death Caller (Clay Warrior Stories Book 13)

by J. Clifton Slater

  When the fish were gone and the embattled Lords had departed, Alerio used a horsehair broom to brush the remaining salt into a pile. Scooping up the salt, he carried it to the horse and allowed the beast to lick his palm clean.

  “Our business here is complete,” Alerio said as he snapped the reigns. “Or at least I hope so.”

  The thirsty mare veered off the road heading for the village’s well. But Alerio pulled her back. Once on the winding road, they left the hamlet of Infernetto behind.

  ***

  Four men waited in the trees at the quarter mile marker. Almost as if designed by a military strategist, the quick turn leading to a second blind curve afforded them invisibility from travelers coming from either direction.

  “Remember, we only want the coins,” the leader advised.

  “But Fulvio, what if he resists?” another of the highwayman inquired.

  He flicked the tip of his sword with a fingernail.

  “Then, we’ll bury the body, sell the horse, and burn the cart for firewood,” their leader stated.

  The comment brought laughter from the three men. Fulvio always had a plan, it was why he was the leader.

  They were relaxing at a pub when the teamster arrived. Usually the fish porters had poor products. Because this new guy offered fresh fish and salt, he had earned a lot of bronze. A lot more then a teamster was entitled too, according to Fulvio. Even after paying the Lords their share, he and his partners would make a good profit.

  “Don’t show yourselves until I give the word,” Fulvio instructed. “But when I call, be sure you have your swords drawn. And move fast.”

  With hand signals, he sent two to one side of the road and drew another back into the trees with him. They waited for the sounds of the horse and cart on the hard-packed dirt.

  Rattling and the clopping of hooves on the road reverberated from the direction of Infernetto.

  “Draw and get ready,” Fulvio ordered.

  They could stand in the middle of the road but that would give the porter advanced notice of the robbery. By waiting on the sides, they held the element of surprise and could use the frightening of the horse to stop the cart.

  The sounds of the rig drew closer and Fulvio judged the man and cart were around the bend.

  “Standby,” Fulvio directed.

  Then from the curve behind the thieves, a grating sound reached them.

  “Is there another rider?” one of the men questioned.

  “New plan,” Fulvio announced. His three henchmen smiled because their leader always had a plan. He called across the road. “We’ll take the cart. You two stop the new traveler.”

  “It sounds like someone singing?” one of the robbers on the far side of the road suggested.

  “You have a brass ear,” his partner told him. “You can’t tell the difference between a drum’s rhythm and the hammering of a tin worker’s hammer.”

  “They both beat in time,” the man submitted.

  “Pay attention, you two,” Fulvio scolded them. “This is business.”

  ***

  The grating from behind them became words as the new traveler drew closer.

  “Hear me administrator

  I have an empty cart.”

  Alerio started his Legion jog before the bend. As unstoppable as a bull Auroch during rutting season, he charged down the road.

  “From here to the mart

  Are miles apart.”

  With his pugio in one hand and a gladius in the other, he brought blades in the hope the highwaymen did not have archers with them. When he slipped by the four men earlier, he didn’t see any bows and arrows.

  “You have contracts to uphold

  Time is a threshold.”

  As he came completely around the bend, he noted two bandits stepping from the roadside. Both faced him. Two other thieves, with their backs to him, watched the mare and empty cart come around the other bend.

  “Don’t have your freight wait

  I will expiate.”

  The two highwaymen waved their swords as if to stop a horse or a wagon. The movements did little to hinder Alerio. He came to them bent low. Both arms flashed out and his blades cut the flesh under the leather armor.

  “For a tiny rate

  From your door to the gate.”

  Jogging past the wounded, he dashed towards the other two men. The horse moved smartly as if she had a driver. That kept them engaged and caused the robbers to ignore the cries of their partners.

  The rough singing coming from behind them finally caught their attention.

  “And never late

  Regulator be smart.”

  Alerio drove a knee into one’s back and the Legion dagger into the base of his neck. The man collapsed to the road’s surface. Spinning around, Alerio swung his gladius at the last man. His blade caught and was parried by the steel of the highwayman.

  ***

  “How did you get behind us?” Fulvio asked. He maintained pressure on the teamster’s blade while circling. The cart and horse shot by without a break in the mare’s stride. “And keep the horse in motion?”

  “Thirst is a powerful motivator,” Alerio replied, “and the horse knows there is a creek not far from here. As far as me sneaking by a group of gullible cut throats, it is what I do as a Legion raider.”

  “That explains why you don’t sound or behave like a porter,” Fulvio observed. Then he felt the resistance against his own blade increase. It was too steady to be desperation, yet just enough to keep him occupied. Respect for the other man’s strength made him afraid to release the blade. “I don’t suppose you would let me walk away.”

  “You know too much about me,” Alerio pointed out. Then he asked. “Would you have allowed me to walk away?”

  “Not once you started to fight,” Fulvio admitted.

  Alerio snapped his wrist counter to the pressure. The tip of the highwayman’s sword dipped in response to the lack of resistance. Alerio’s gladius free of the force, rotated up and over before driving forward into the bandit’s neck.

  “I have an empty cart,” Alerio sang as he withdrew his blade and turned. Further down the road, he walked by the two wounded thieves and advised. “Both of you are blessed of Coalemus, the God of Stupid. Find another line of work.”

  He broke into the Legion jog. The horse had a good head start and Alerio wanted to catch her. Mostly, he feared she would reach the creek and drink more water than was healthy. Nursing a sick animal all the way back to Ostia would not make for a pleasant trip.

  Chapter 8 – Sacrifice and Stupidity

  Late in the day as the sun touched the highlands, the horse and cart trotted by the turnoff to Ostia town. The entrance to the Legion Post fell behind and, in another mile, Alerio reined the mare off the road and onto the beach.

  Multiple fires highlighted the warships with full crews ready to launch in the morning. At others, single fires showed they were guarded by a half squad of Marines. Past the squadrons, Alerio pulled reins and stopped the horse at the fish drying racks.

  “Late, I see. Every other porter was back long ago,” the Master accused. He spit into the sand and shifted around a cookfire. Strolling to the rig, he growled. “It must have been a miserable trip. Did you at least earn your fee?”

  “I would like to report a successful expedition,” Alerio announced. He wanted to play it coy and hold back some coins to show he had larceny in his heart. But the man’s dour attitude brought out the contrary in the Legion officer. “Infernetto was hungry for fish and willing to pay top coin.”

  Alerio tossed a heavy coin purse to the Master.

  “You owe me five bronze,” Alerio demanded as if he hadn’t just turned over a large sum.

  The Master of the Catch gave Alerio an odd look before opening the purse and counting out six bronze coins.

  “Here. I’ve included a bonus, but don’t expect it every trip,” he said while dumping the coins into Alerio’s palm. “Come back in the morning and I’ll give
you another load.”

  “Thank you, thank you,” Alerio said while touching each coin with a finger. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be back.”

  Alerio brought the rig around and headed for the road.

  “What do you think of him?” the Master of the Catch asked a fisherman.

  “I say Top Coin is a bit slow,” the man responded. “If he had any sense, he would have kept half of what he gave you. I would have.”

  “This is more than enough to pay for the fish and the extra salt he took,” the Master stated. He judged the weight of the coins before deciding. “Tristis can use a not too intelligent thief. But let’s give Sisera one more test.”

  ***

  In the long shadows of late afternoon, Alerio pulled the cart to the side of the road. He climbed off the rig and opened the storage box.

  Once the cart bed smelled of vinegar, instead of fish, he climbed on and headed towards Ostia Town.

  “You are getting in late,” Hamus Ivo declared when Alerio arrived at the campsite. “I trust you had a productive day.”

  “I did,” Alerio confirmed. “As a matter of fact, I earned a bonus.”

  “A bonus, you say?” Hamus pondered while scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t get a bonus.”

  “It could be your singing,” Alerio suggested. “Sing me a verse while I fix dinner. Maybe I can give you a few pointers.”

  “This morning, I might have argued with you,” Hamus admitted.

  He cleared his throat and began a new stanza.

  “Hear me administrator

  I have an empty purse

  For this is my private verse

  You fail to disburse

  The gold in your hand

  Not even a silver band

  If a heavy box falls off

  It is my payoff

  My small quaff

  You will never miss the payoff

  When I sell the knockoff

  Regulator be smart

  Find another cart.”

  “That is a cynical song,” Alerio pointed out.

  “Well, I didn’t get a bonus,” Hamus scoffed.

  “Hopefully, a portion of camp stew with fish will cheer you up,” Alerio told him. Then as the undercover Legionary stirred the contents of the iron pot, he mentioned. “Wealth, intelligence, and courage?”

  “Wealth and, I didn’t catch the others,” Hamus confessed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Somethings are building blocks leading to higher goals,” Alerio lectured. “Didn’t Aristotle give wealth, intelligence, and courage as examples of steps leading to more complicated actions?”

  “What does that have to do with me?” Hamus questioned.

  “I’m trying to cheer you up. According to the Greek philosopher,” Alerio described, “happiness is the only emotion which stands on its own.”

  “Tell me a joke,” Hamus stated, “or relate a tale of courage if you want to cheer me up. But do not talk in riddles or sing to me. Is the stew ready yet?”

  “I believe it is,” Alerio responded.

  “Then I am happy,” Hamus vowed. He shoved a shallow tin at Alerio. “Fill this and I will be happy and no longer hungry.”

  “I guess that answers the question,” Alerio stated while he spooned portions onto the plates, “of which is more filling, philosophy or food.”

  Alerio peered over his plate at the other porter. Having been trained to use questions to trigger thought, the Legion officer had expected Hamus to spring into a discussion based on Aristotle’s premise. Instead, Hamus clarified his attitude.

  “Sisera, you are one strange teamster,” Hamus professed. “You talk funny, but you make good stew.”

  ***

  The day dawned with clouds blanketing the sky. Because of the overcast, it appeared earlier than it was, which might have accounted for the late arrival of the rigs.

  “Spent your coins on drinks, did you?” the Master of the Catch projected on the four unpunctual porters. “My fishermen have been out since before dawn even with hangovers. Sisera, you are going to be loaded first.”

  “Thank you, sir, thank you,” Alerio blathered.

  “Sure, my pleasure,” he replied, dismissing the fool’s platitudes.

  Fish were placed in the bed. Alerio adjusted the fish before he salted the layers. Then, surprisingly, two full sacks of salt were added to the load.

  “That’s a valuable cargo,” the Master warned. “I expect top coins when you get back from Mostacciano.”

  “That’s the Legion waystation,” Alerio announced.

  “It is and they pay good for salt,” the Master of the Catch informed him. “The fish, those are extra.”

  “You can count on me,” Alerio assured him as he guided the horse away from the drying racks. Then while still in earshot, Alerio added. “May Silvanus grant me safe passage.”

  For a moment, Alerio feared the reference identified him as an educated, thoughtful man. But no one seemed to notice, and he continued along the beach.

  “It’ll take more than the God of the Countryside to make you safe,” the Master mumbled as he strutted to the next porter’s rig.

  The trap for Sisera was set. Soon the not too bright but eager-to-please teamster would be in debt. And that was the way Agent Tristis liked his porters.

  ***

  A cloudy day provided three benefits. Alerio rode comfortably, the aroma of the fish remained that of a fresh catch, and the horse moved easily over the surface of the road.

  Just shy of the four and a half-mile marker, a large Holm oak spread its branches. On a hot day, the high limbs provided shade for travelers. Although not required on an overcast day, the grandfather tree still signaled the halfway point between Ostia and the posthouse at Mostacciano.

  Alerio urged the mare off the road and aimed her towards a spot beside the enormous tree. Moving slowly over the rough ground, the rig almost reached the oak when the horse became skittish.

  “Just a few more feet and we will give you a rest,” he told the mare, “a bite to eat, and my aching backside a break from the boards.”

  “Maybe your load is too heavy,” a masked spearman suggested.

  He stepped from behind the tree trunk followed by a disguised archer.

  “We can help remove some of that weight,” the bowman offered.

  They moved forward and flanked Alerio’s cart.

  “Goddess Nenia, as Death Caller, I ask that if it is my time,” Alerio said, “take me quickly. Else, consider these two highwaymen sacrifices.”

  With a spear tip on the left and an arrowhead on the right targeting him, any unarmed teamsters would give up the rig, the load, and the horse to save his life. It made sense to civilians and untrained robbers. To a Legion officer who carried the blessing of Nenia, it was almost humorous.

  “Please, please,” Alerio screamed in a high voice. He stood, turning to face the bowman. “Don’t…argh!”

  Clutching his chest as if shot by an arrow, Alerio toppled off the left side of the cart.

  The spearman, assuming his partner for some reason had launched an arrow at the porter, took his eyes off the falling man.

  “Why did you…?”

  ***

  Alerio absorbed the fall with his left shoulder and rolled backward. His legs snapped up knocking the spear to the side. At the end of his roll, Alerio rose to his feet.

  Momentarily, the spearman and the Legion officer were nose to nose. Then a knee strike to the thief’s groin folded his torso forward. Alerio’s other knee jerked upward and smashed the man’s face. As the spearman toppled over with blood spraying from a broken nose, Alerio snatched the spear from his hand.

  Spinning and diving, Alerio hid behind the cart. A quick peak over the load gave him a fix on the archer. After ducking and shifting to throw off the bowman’s aim, Alerio stood, drew back the shaft, and launched the spear.

  The arrow shot harmlessly into the sky as the archer fell backward, the weight of the spear toppling
him to the earth. Protruding from his chest for a moment, the shaft jutted into the air. Then the soft heart muscles allowed the shaft to slowly tilt unto the end rested on the ground.

  No assault to counter an ambush was complete while an enemy lived. Pulling the Golden Valley dagger, Alerio dashed to the spearman and slashed his throat.

  Too late to recall Nenia Dea and just before the gushing blood covered the man’s arms, Alerio noticed the burn scar on the robber’s right wrist.

  Stooped over with the dagger extended, Alerio scanned the bushes around the old oak. As he searched for more enemies, Sisera wondered how he would explain killing one, or possibly two, of Tristis’ teamsters.

  While placing coins on the eyes of the first dead man, Alerio suffered a crisis of conscience. If Death Caller had not asked for guidance from his Goddess, would the porters still be alive? He shook off the uneasy feeling as he placed coins over the eyes of the second corpse.

  ***

  Later, Alerio splashed water onto his chest and arms to rinse away the sweat and dirt.

  “If they hadn’t targeted each other through me,” Alerio complained to the horse, “we might have talked. But no, they lined up perfectly. Now there are two bodies buried here and I’ll need to stop and make a sacrifice to the Goddess Melinoe every time I pass this spot.”

  The horse shook her head as if impatient to be away from the oak tree and the graves hidden in the brush. Two horses, obviously owned by the robbers, were tied to the rear of the cart.

  “I also would like to be on the road and away from this place,” Alerio agreed with the mare. “But first a small sacrifice to the Goddess of Ghosts and Spirits.”

  Alerio walked a wide circle around the graves spilling offerings of vino. The distance was not out of disrespect. It was so the vino trail would not lead travelers to the bodies.

  Act 3

  Chapter 9 – Needs and Misdeeds

  “Master of the Catch,” Tristis exclaimed. “If this teamster is as pliable as you claim, he will fit right into my organization.”