Death Caller (Clay Warrior Stories Book 13)

by J. Clifton Slater

  “He is better than that,” the Master promised the shipping agent. “I would bet when he gets back to the drying racks, he will tell me he was robbed of the salt. Yet, Sisera will turn over all of the coins from the sale of the fish and apologize.”

  “I don’t need honesty,” Tristis pointed out. “Larceny, yes, morality no.”

  “Sisera has a twisted sense of embezzlement,” the Master countered. “He stole from me, used the salt, then returned all of the profits.”

  “I will be interested to hear how he handles today,” the agent stated. “Keep me posted.”

  The Master of the Catch left the villa, crossed a backstreet, and dropped down the slope to the beach. When the fisherman left, a man came into the room.

  “What do you think, boss?” Silenus inquired.

  As Tristis caravan leader and head porter, Silenus acted as the strong arm of the organization.

  “I am thinking, I’ll keep this Sisera in reserve,” Tristis replied. “We have enough rigs for tomorrow night. But let’s make sure everyone is sober and no one gets in trouble. Oh, and have everyone keep an eye on Sisera. I want to know who he associates with in the evenings.”

  “I’ll get the word out to the porters,” the head teamster assured him.

  “Don’t forget to contact the pair who did the job at Mostacciano,” Tristis instructed. “We need their carts for the haul. And remind them, the salt they took from Sisera is mine.”

  ***

  Alerio’s rig and the three horses traveled the straight roadway for another five miles. While the road ran true, the Tiber curved towards the embankment before angling away. At the curve in the river, Alerio spotted the posthouse compound. It rested on the side of the road across from the river, near a small village. The Legion waystation cared for men traveling under Legion orders. The village provided services, other than water and a safe place to rest at night, to civilians traveling to and from Ostia. Without waiting for directions, Alerio’s mare turned off the road and trotted down a driveway.

  The posthouse at Mostacciano consisted of a main building, a stable, and a large wagon yard next to animal pens. The horse crossed the yard and stopped at a watering trough. Alerio hopped off the cart, untied the two horses, and pulled them to the water.

  “You must be headed far and fast,” a yardman observed.

  “Why do you say that?” Alerio questioned.

  “You’re outfitted with three horses,” the man replied.

  “Not me,” Alerio protested. “I found these two walking on the roadway. Can you care for them until their owners arrive?”

  “Sure. Let’s put them in the pen,” the yardman agreed.

  He and Alerio walked the robbers’ mounts to the corral. They would remain unclaimed for a week. After eight days, a stockman would put them into rotation, making the two horses available as exchange mounts for Legion couriers.

  “I have fish and salt for the waystation,” Alerio told the man. Then, thinking of maybe building a small shrine at the oak tree, he added. “After I see the station agent, I need a load of river rocks. Is there a vendor in the village? Or do I have to go to the Tiber and fetch my own?”

  “There are no smooth rocks along this sector of the Tiber. You have to go miles north of the Capital to find smooth rocks,” the man described. He picked up a rough-edged stone and tossed it to Alerio. “The best you’ll find around here are these. Not good for slingers, let alone a building project.”

  After catching the stone and examining it, Alerio decided the dead thieves did not rate a shrine. He thanked the man and went into the main building to sell his load of fish and salt.

  ***

  “Hear me administrator

  I have an empty cart

  And a will to depart.”

  Hamus Ivo sang as his rig moved slowly through the streets. Being late in the afternoon, he did not expect much in the way of business. A light, short load would end his day nicely. Guiding the horse down a side street, he aimed to cruise the commercial district once more before heading to his campsite.

  “A strong back

  A sturdy horse ready to go

  But a last no cargo.”

  Three men stepped from an alleyway. One stopped Hamus’ horse, one walked to the other side of the cart, and the third spoke directly to the teamster.

  “Ivo stay away from Sisera,” he warned. “He’ll be a Tristis porter soon and you know the agent doesn’t like interference.”

  “You’ll not have that young man,” Hamus said with confidence. “I’ll keep him away from you, bleating sheep, and your bad shepherd.”

  “Bleating Sheep?” the man on the far side of the cart challenged.

  He reached for Hamus. Automatically, Hamus snapped the end of a rein. Acting as a whip, the leather cracked against the man’s face. The assaulter’s skin split and blood dripped down his cheek.

  “I’m sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean,” Hamus begged. “Please forgive…”

  While the man with the cut reeled away, Hamus leaned towards him pleading that it was a mistake. Seeing Ivo’s unprotected back, the talkative one drew his knife and stabbed between the teamster’s ribs.

  Pain ripped through his lungs and Hamus fell on his side. Curling into a fetal position, he fought for breath.

  “Get him out of here,” the knifeman ordered.

  The thug holding the horse slapped the beast’s rump sending Hamus Ivo and his rig racing down the street.

  ***

  Alerio was pleased. It wasn’t much but having a load of broken and torn equipment meant his trip back to Ostia earned coins. Although he played teamster to uncover the thefts from the Legion, he still took pride in making the job a success.

  At the main gate of the Legion Post, he eased the mare to a stop.

  “The waystation at Mostacciano is turning in a request for new gear,” Alerio explained while handing over the order. “And I have the discarded equipment.”

  The Legionary sentry studied the message and handed it back.

  “Go ahead,” he instructed.

  Several streets from the gate, Alerio eased the mare off the road and along the side of the supply building. As he passed the garden, he noticed the smooth river rocks and wondered briefly where they got so many of them.

  After parking in the rear, he marched into the building and presented his chit for two bronze coins per mile.

  “I see you’ve learned your value,” the clerk said. He handed Alerio two silver coins. “Get out of here before my Tribune realizes you aren’t from Tristis’ stable of porters.”

  “Who is your Tribune?” Alerio asked.

  “For the past half a year, it’s Tribune Gutteris,” the clerk replied. “He’s also the staff officer for the right flank of the Second Maniple. That is, once the Legion forms.”

  “You don’t sound happy with the Tribune,” Alerio mentioned.

  “My books are honest,” the clerk stated. “I don’t appreciate his scrutiny and changing my numbers.”

  “He changes the count of equipment?” Alerio questioned.

  “Not wholesale,” the office worker admitted. “Only a line here and there. I ignore it because for the most part the books balance.”

  Alerio thanked the clerk and left while juggling three thoughts and two silver coins.

  Could a few numbers on an inventory list make much of a difference? Legions lose or break equipment daily. And warships have so much extra gear, it would seem impossible to keep track of the supplies.

  Each of the one hundred and two Legion warships in the fleet had spare ropes, animal hide sails, and a least one extra hypozomata, the twisted fibers holding tension between the bow and aft of each warship. A line here and there on an inventory sheet would not make a drastic difference.

  Shoving aside the petty theft by Tribune Gutteris, Alerio pondered if he should tell the Master of the Catch about the attempted robbery and murders. If word got out about him killing two men, the Legion would get involved, and Aleri
o would have to disclose his true purpose. In the end, it seemed a better idea not to tell the Master.

  Finally, Alerio tossed both coins high into the air. The silver flipped and sparkled in the late afternoon sun. He looked forward to telling Hamus about his demand for two bronze per mile and thanking the teamster for the advice.

  Alerio caught the coins, shoved them into a pouch, and climbed onto his rig. Urging the mare forward, he headed towards the main gate and the fish drying racks on the beach.

  ***

  Early cookfires hazed the beach with smoke. Through the smog, Alerio guided the horse to the fish drying rack.

  “Master of the Catch,” Alerio called to a cookfire beyond the drying embers.

  “Sisera. It is late,” the Master acknowledged. He eased between the hot spots and swaggered up to the rig. “I didn’t think, I would see you until morning.”

  The grin on his face seemed pleasant. But Alerio knew it was more smirk than smile. Tempted to wipe the expression off his face with the bag of coins, Alerio paused and checked his throw before releasing the coin purse. As a result, the pouch arched gently over the sand and landed in the Master’s hands.

  “You owe me twenty bronze, sir,” Alerio reminded the Master of the Catch.

  The smile vanished as the fish boss balanced the purse and judged its weight against the value of a simple load of fish.

  “You had no troubles in route?” he questioned.

  “No, sir,” Alerio assured him. “The delivery went well, and I got top coin for the salt and fish.”

  “I can tell,” the Master stammered as he jiggled the purse. After counting out twenty bronze coins, he promised Alerio. “If you return in the morning, I may have a surprise for you.”

  Alerio almost contested the invitation. If the next day was like the last two, it might get him killed. But he did not challenge the offer.

  “Thank you, sir. Thank you,” Alerio cooed. “I’ll be here at daybreak.”

  Turning the cart, Alerio hurried the horse away from the drying racks. If he delayed any longer, Hamus might start cooking the evening meal.

  “And if Hamus Ivo fixes dinner,” Alerio called to the mare. “He will expect me to eat his awful cooking.”

  Picking up on the tone of Alerio’s voice, the horse surged ahead almost as if the beast understood the reason for the urgency.

  ***

  At a smart clip, the horse trotted through the streets of Ostia town. On a road near the center of the settlement, the rig turned north and headed for the camp Alerio and Hamus shared.

  “I don’t see a fire,” Alerio said with relief. “He must have just arrived.”

  The last statement took into consideration that Hamus’ horse stood harnessed between the cart shafts. But Alerio could not see his friend even as his rig approached the cold firepit.

  “Hamus Ivo. You sorry excuse for a singer,” Alerio tease. “You could have at least built a fire.”

  In the twilight, Alerio pulled the reins and searched the gloom for activity. Seeing no motion nor receiving an answer, Alerio leaped off his rig and ran to Hamus’ cart. He located a shape laying curled on the ground beside the rig.

  The smell of copper, and the stink of a body that had emptied its bowels and bladder, assaulted Alerio. As a result of the battle aromas, he wasn’t surprised by the dark, wet circle radiating out from his friend’s body.

  As Alerio began a prayer for the dead, Hamus coughed weakly and attempted to draw in a breath. Dropping to his knees, Alerio shoved his arms under his friend and lifted him from the ground.

  ***

  Darkness ended the day’s activities at Doctor Allocco’s hospital. The final patient was discharged, the doors were locked, and a guard posted at the entrance. The apprentice physicians had just completed the steps of locking up when a porter’s cart raced from the center of the town.

  In a wild and reckless gallop, the horse pulled a rocking and often off balanced cart. At the reins stood a man, his legs braced against the tilting cart bed. His arms snapped the leather straps driving the horse, headlong through the streets, towards the hospital.

  “Surgeon! My friend needs a surgeon,” the driver screamed.

  The guard jerked from side to side preparing to dodge to either side if the horse jumped the hospital’s short defensive wall. But the beast turned and stopped shy of the structure. Still in motion, the cart slid sideways, halting only when the right wheel tapped the stonework.

  “A surgeon,” the driver bellowed as he lifted a form from the cart’s bed. “Please, my friend needs Doctor Allocco.”

  Chapter 10 – Duty Delays the Blade

  Hamus Ivo did not protest when Doctor Allocco probed the wound. Although when she removed her fingers, bubbles of blood foamed at his mouth.

  “It’s a knife wound, and it is deep,” she reported. “Far too deep to sew up. I’m afraid Tribune Sisera, all we can do is wait.”

  Alerio gripped Hamus’ hand, lifted his chin, and began to chant.

  “Nenia Dea

  You hover just out of sight

  But death is called

  To claim his life.”

  In mid verse, Hamus pulled Alerio down until the injured man’s lips touched Alerio’s ear.

  “Tristis wanted you, Sisera,” the teamster choked out. “I couldn’t let them ruin you.”

  Then the tension fell from Hamus Ivo’s hand and it lay limp in Alerio’s grip.

  “With gentle hands so light

  Take him with care

  As is a worthy man’s right

  Goddess of Death, Nenia Dea

  Hear our plight

  As you hover just out of sight.”

  Alerio closed his eyes but not in grief. Rather, anger surged through his chest. A mad plan formed in his mind. He would kill the Master of the Catch, Tribune Gutteris, Agent Tristis, any porters associated with the agent, and anyone who got in his way. Then a damp rag dapped gently at his ear.

  “You have blood on the side of your face,” Doctor Allocco offered. She shoved the cloth into his hand. “I don’t know why you are dressed like that, Tribune Sisera. But you need a bath and probably a good night’s sleep.”

  “I’m on an assignment,” he explained to the Doctor. “Thank you for the offer but I need to get back to my camp.”

  “What assignment sends you to live like an itinerant dayworker?” Allocco asked.

  Alerio’s anger slid back into his control. Her question focused him and reminded the staff officer that he had a job to complete. He could murder those he knew or suspected were involved in the crimes, but then the ones making the most coins from the theft would escape. Vengeance he decided would come once he discovered the people on the business ends of the pilfering.

  “Please see that Hamus has a priest and a sacrifice to the God Sancus at his interment,” Alerio requested while handing the Doctor a handful of coins.

  “Why the God Sancus?” Allocco inquired.

  “If there was anyone who lived by his oath, was a friend you could trust, and lived an honest life,” Alerio replied, “it was Hamus Ivo.”

  “I’ll see to the arrangements,” the Doctor told him. “Where can you be reached?”

  “I won’t be attending the funeral,” Alerio informed her.

  “Where will you be?” she asked.

  “Stalking prey,” Alerio said.

  Then with his jaw set, the cold calculating Tribune Sisera marched out of the medical facility.

  ***

  The ride back to the campsite contrasted sharply with the race to Doctor Allocco’s hospital. Instead of the insane dash, the mare plodded down the street past the last row of buildings and arrived at an empty campsite.

  Alerio noticed the absence of Hamus’ rig and horse. With no way to track the animal in the dark, he set about building a fire and preparing a meal. As he bent to blow the sparks into flames, Alerio caught a sniff of his clothing. Doctor Allocco was correct, he did need a bath. He made a mental note to get to the
beach early and wash in the sea.

  By firelight, he unharnessed the horse and rubbed her down.

  “We’ve had a long day,” he said while drawing a brush down the beast’s flank. “Hopefully tomorrow will be less stressful for you. Me? I’m hoping for some answers.”

  Once he and the mare were fed, Alerio stretched out and fell asleep. Overhead the stars twinkled peacefully, but in Alerio’s dreams Death Caller littered the landscape with bodies.

  ***

  Long before daylight, Alerio backed the horse between the cart shafts and harnessed the beast to the rig. He was in a sour mood and forced himself to be extra gentle so as not to take it out on the draft animal.

  His tenderness extended to allowing the horse to set her own gait. As a result, they clomped and rolled slowly through the quiet town. Even at that pace, it was still dark when they reached the beach.

  “We both need a bath,” Alerio told the mare. “But first the cart bed.”

  Alerio pushed the rig to the water’s edge and, with handfuls of sand, he scrubbed Hamus’ blood and yesterday’s fish smell from the boards. Leaving the cart tilted up to dry, he used buckets of water to wash the horse before brushing her down. Finally, Alerio stripped off his clothing and splashed into waist deep water. There, he washed the woolen shirt and pants. While he cleaned, sunlight peeked over the horizon of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Tossing the wet clothing onto the cart, he turned back to the sea and dove under the surface.

  He came up to a view of the rising sun. Some of his anger seeped away at the promise of a new day. Adding to the easing, the gentle waves caressed his chest. He dipped under again and felt the pressure of the water lift his body and his spirits. Coming up, Alerio actually felt…

  “You, porter,” a voice growled from the beach. “Come out of there and get your cūlus beat.”

  Spinning, Alerio used his hands to brush the water from his eyes. Once his vision cleared, he smiled.

  “Optio Noxalis, right?” Alerio asked. Under the water, he curled his hands into fists. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

  Confused by the joy in the porter’s voice, the NCO and the two Legionaries with him exchanged glances.