Death Caller (Clay Warrior Stories Book 13)

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Are you coming?” the teamster questioned.

  “Yes. I was just admiring the river rock on the carts,” Alerio answered.

  “They ship them to Ostia as ballast for warships.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” Alerio lied.

  In fact, warships did not use ballast of any kind. Alerio accompanied the rig into the compound. As they moved beyond the guard and gate, a realization occurred to him. The smooth rocks were shipped to Ostia, but not to the port and not as stabilizers for vessels.

  ***

  The hindquarter of beef weighed as much as a man. It took Alerio balancing the odd shape on his back and the teamster taking the weight of the leg to transport the meat. They stumbled from the cart to a series of tables placed side by side. While they offloaded the first piece, the butcher stood at the rig inspecting the other two sections.

  “The meat appears properly aged,” he declared.

  The butcher slapped the meat to test the firmness just before Alerio hoisted the second quarter onto his back. As the porter and Alerio walked the meat to the tables, the butcher punched and poked the last hindquarter.

  “Three excellent hinds,” he stated. Then glancing into the cart, he spied the hand sized piece of steak. “What’s this? A loose piece of meat.”

  “That’s his payment,” the teamster informed the butcher pointing at Alerio.

  “Then let him earn it,” the butcher directed. He stepped back to allow the men to reach into the rig.

  Alerio and the teamster pulled the quarter to the edge of the cart and struggled to lift the huge dogleg shaped hind. Once up, Alerio slipped under the beef. Then he and the porter carried it to the tables.

  “Here is your fee,” the butcher said.

  He held out a coin purse to the teamster but held the steak close to his side.

  “What about my payment?” Alerio inquired.

  “It’s the master’s beef,” the butcher informed him. “And not the porters to offer. If you have a problem with the pay, talk to the teamster. Now leave the compound.”

  “We made a deal,” Alerio shouted. He moved forward and crowded the butcher with his chest. “A deal is a deal.”

  “Guards. Remove these two,” the butcher shouted.

  His called brought three Temple Guards. And a pair of men from the backdoor of the villa. Silenus was one of the two.

  “Top Coin, what are you doing?” the head porter asked.

  A man in a silver edged robe stood beside Silenus. Lean of face, he could have been a businessman or a politician. Even his small squinty eyes disclosed a man who studied accounting scrolls more than the landscape.

  “They took my payment,” Alerio complained. While his demeanor displayed nervousness, Alerio secretly studied the man in the expensive robe. “I worked for the steak.”

  The teamster’s description of the villa’s owner being a priest put the man’s dress in perspective. But there was no jewelry to identify which temple.

  “Do you know this man?” the priest asked Silenus.

  “Top Coin is strong and a good teamster,” the head porter acknowledged. “But he is slow. Master Tristis believes from fighting with a Legion.”

  “You there,” the priest barked.

  Alerio braced and saluted the celebrant, then added, “Yes, Senior Tribune.”

  The priest smiled at the assumed rank before asking, “Where did you serve?”

  “Flaccus Legion at Volsinii, sir,” Alerio replied. “Where you there?”

  “Very interesting,” the priest said ignoring Alerio’s question. “Keep the steak.”

  The priest turned and Alerio panicked. He needed more information. While he formulated a strategy to keep the man engaged, Silenus delivered the intelligence.

  “Fetial Mattia, thank you for your generosity,” Silenus remarked.

  “It’s the least I can do,” Mattia assured him. “I advised Quintus Gurges to go and put down the revolt at Volsinii. Unfortunately, the Consul got himself killed and most of a Legion murdered. Flaccus had to go in and clean up the mess. In a way, I feel responsible for the young man’s injury.”

  “Still, sir, the steak is a mark of your charitable nature,” Silenus advised.

  “So it is,” Mattia acknowledged.

  The priest and the head porter vanished into the villa. In the rear yard, the butcher offered the meat to Alerio.

  When he did not reach for it, the butcher advised, “Take the steak or I will keep it.”

  The porter grabbed the steak and Alerio’s arm.

  “We are leaving,” he advised. After pulling a stunned Alerio onto the cart, the teamster snapped the reins and guided the horse to the gate. “Friend, you have a peculiar way of accepting a gift.”

  Alerio was not play acting at being Top Coin. In this instance, he really felt brain addled as well as afraid.

  The Fetiales were a sect of celebrants dedicated to Jupiter. As the Sky Father and the God of Good Faith, Jupiter offered insight into commerce and treaties. The Fetiales deciphered Jupiter’s wishes and spoke for the God to the Senate in matters of trade negotiations and foreign affairs.

  Accusing a Fetial Priest of theft would put Alerio uncomfortably close to the top of a cross.

  “You keep the steak,” Alerio told the porter. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  Chapter 14 – Accused Not Convicted

  The four porters from Ostia and Silenus slept late. In the soft light of dawn, Alerio studied the fading stars. They offered no council for his dilemma. When wagons rolled and drivers called to teams of horses, Alerio climbed to his feet to see what was happening.

  Three large wagons, each pulled by a pair of horses, left the hamlet. Then from the estate, a cart raced to fall in with the transports. Finally, Fetial Priest Mattia and two Temple Guard trotted from the villa. They caught up with and rode past the wagons.

  “Where are you going, Top Coin?” Silenus asked. He propped himself up on an elbow and watched Alerio harness his horse to the cart.

  “My sister is in the Capital,” Alerio replied. He stopped and held up a purse of coins. “She will like that I earned top coin.”

  “I’m sure she will,” the head porter offered. “When you are finished visiting family, come to Ostia. With the Legion comes business and we need you and your rig.”

  “I will be in Ostia,” Alerio told him.

  With a gentle urging, the horse moved away from the campsite. Alerio allowed her to pick her way around Malagrotta. Even when the cart reached the road heading east, he did not pressure the beast. Mostly because an empty cart could not catch riders on horseback but could easily outpace three heavily loaded wagons.

  He knew the destination of the priest and could make a guess about the wagons. But he wanted to be sure where the barrels and crates went. So, while a chase, it was not a race. He sat on the bed of the cart and let the mare pick her own pace.

  ***

  At the five-mile marker, the land changed drastically. Green grass and crops grew in sweeping fields. Yet, while the land was cultivated, there were no permanent villas or farmhouses. Only utilitarian and replaceable buildings dotted the landscape and all the structures used rough lumber for their construction. Upon closer inspection, Alerio noted debris from river flooding wrapped around the trunks of hardy trees. Just two miles further on, the Tiber River flowed, for now, within her banks.

  Alerio guided the mare off the road and pulled back on the reins. Ahead, the three wagons and the cart stopped as well. Once sure no traffic approached from the far bank, the teamster on the first wagon climbed down and positioned himself at the front of his team. Then he tugged and led the horses onto the bridge name Pons Sublicius. It was called that because it was a bridge resting on piles.

  Below the bridge and under the fast-flowing water, sharpened logs had been hammered into the bottom of the river. On the pilings were affixed crossbeams that linked the neighboring piles and the road boards that spanned the Tiber. Over its lifetime, the bridge
suffered damages many times from natural catastrophes. Only once had it been purposely ravaged. Two hundred and fifty years ago, shortly after the Senate removed their King, the Romans demolished the Pons Sublicius to stop the invasion of an Etruscan army. Shortly afterwards, it was rebuilt to allow the bridge to carry commerce back and forth over the Tiber River.

  The bridge wobbled slightly as the heavy wagon rolled over the boards. Speaking softly and reassuringly, the teamster kept a firm grip on the horses. Kickboards, only an ankle high, ran along either edge of the bridge. Without railings, a panicked horse could easily take its harness mate and the wagon over the side.

  Alerio waited for the three wagons and the cart to cross before he urged the mare back onto the road. The horse moved briskly until they neared the bridge. Then she stopped in the middle of the road.

  “Just a little further,” Alerio suggested.

  But the mare wanted no part of the steep embankment, the water below, and the narrow bridge. After stepping down, Alerio moved to her head and patted the animal’s neck.

  “We’ll walk it,” he told her. “You keep your eyes on the boards. I will tell you what you are missing.”

  A tug and half a step persuaded the horse that Alerio intended for the cart to follow him onto the narrow path.

  “It’s solid underfoot,” he bragged. But Alerio resisted the tendency to stomp his foot to demonstrate the sturdiness of the decking. “The big wagons and teams made it across. You should have no problem.”

  The mare’s ears flicked back and forth rapidly, and she hesitated. Seeing the signs of anxiety, Alerio patted her and cooed.

  “When we get to the other side,” he promised. “I will fill your bag with oats. That sounds good, doesn’t it?”

  His voice and the firm pressure on her buckle strap kept the horse moving.

  “To our left is Tiber Island,” Alerio informed her. “The building, don’t you look I’ll describe it for you. The building is the Temple of Aesculapius. It was built during a plague in hopes the Greek God of Healing would stop the disease.”

  At the center of the bridge, the mare’s muzzle tightened, and her mouth pursed. The tension warned Alerio of her stress and worry. He needed to get her focused on him and not on the possibility of falling off either side.

  “What’s that you ask?” he teased in a relaxed tone. “Did the pestilence stop with the building of the Temple?”

  They passed the halfway point.

  “I don’t know about that one, but there have been other plagues since,” he said. “But Aesculapius is a foreign God, and you can never tell about those Greeks.”

  They reached the far side and Alerio looked at the crowded streets searching for the wagons. When he could not locate them, he selected a road and walked the mare in that direction.

  ***

  Taking advantage of the narrow cart, Alerio dodged through alleyways. When they reached a wide plaza, he pulled the mare to the side of the road and got out her feed.

  “You made it across, and I am proud of you,” he said as he poured her a generous portion of grain. “Now let’s see if I am correct.”

  He peered across the plaza at the Legion warehouse. Wagons arrived and others departed. For years, the garrison Legions requisitioned from craftsmen or constructed their equipment from the regions where they were assigned. But the heavy use of marching Legions to stem the aggression of the Qart Hadasht Empire required infantry equipment. While the number of Legionaries needed for the fleet, and the addition of a permanent half Legion in Sicilia brought about the need for a central distribution point. As Colonel Gaius Claudius pointed out, the Legion was changing.

  From a street several blocks away, the three wagons from Malagrotta came into view. The teamsters drove the horses around the plaza before turning off and heading for the Legion warehouse.

  Here was confirmation of Alerio’s assumption. Although hurtful, he knew the customer for the stolen Legion equipment. The criminal enterprise sold not to a foreign military but peddled the Legion’s own gear back to the Republic’s procurement department. With a sick feeling in his stomach, Alerio climbed on the cart and ordered the mare forward.

  He needed a bath and advice. In Rome there were several quality baths. But only one where he could get trusted advice from a politically powerful man.

  ***

  Several blocks from the forum and the Senate building, Alerio pulled the mare off the main road and onto a driveway. At a statue to Bia, he eased the horse to a stop.

  “Goddess Bia, thank you for the strength of my body and my drive,” Alerio prayed to the statue before hopping to the pavers.

  When the door to Villa Maximus opened, a scowling Belen charged out. Behind him, two men-at-arms moved through the doorway and flanked the secretary.

  “Deliveries are made at the rear gate,” he instructed the teamster in the dirty clothing.

  “If I had anything to deliver except me,” Alerio replied while facing Belen. “I would gladly use another entrance.”

  “Master Sisera, I did not recognize you,” Belen gasped. “Please come in.”

  “The mare is a good draft animal,” Alerio described. “But I’ll need a mount to get back to the Central Legion at Ariccia.”

  “You aren’t staying?” Spurius Maximus’ secretary inquired.

  “No. But I need a bath, a change of clothing, a conversation with my father, and a good meal,” Alerio told him. “Then I have to go.”

  “The bath, food, change, and horse we have available,” Belen advised. “The Senator, however, is at a luncheon feast.”

  They moved to the villa and Belen deferred to the master of the villa’s adopted son. Alerio walked through the doorway and waited for the secretary to catch up. Leaning over, Alerio whispered.

  “How hard is it to convict a Fetial Priest of criminal activity?” he inquired.

  “Accused, unfortunately for a beloved of the Senate, is not legally punishable,” Belen responded. “And your testimony against a Fetial Priest, who speaks with the authority of Jupiter, is far from a conviction.”

  “You are saying it’s hard,” Alerio guessed.

  “Most likely impossible, Master Sisera,” Belen added. “Before we speak any more, may I request that you bathe?”

  After scrubbing, scraping, and oiling his body, Alerio ate while writing a letter to Senator Maximus. He laid out the criminal organization and the ways and means of the crimes. At the end, he added a warning about Fetial Mattia and a request that the Senator and the Senate handle that part of the investigation.

  Once finished, he went to the stables and selected a horse. Shortly after noon, Alerio kicked the mount into motion. He rode across the city to the southern gate. Once outside the wall, he relaxed and let the horse carry him towards Central Legion’s training camp.

  Chapter 15 – Vengeance of the Wronged

  The buildings of Albano Laziale rose in tiers with the hills. The sun dipped low to the east casting bright light on the faces of the structures while creating shadows on their sides. Before reaching the town, Alerio guided his mount off the Via Latina and onto an unpaved road.

  Five miles later, he stopped at the gate of the Legion camp at Ariccia.

  “Tribune Alerio Sisera,” he told the sentry. “I can break out my orders but that would take time I don’t have.”

  “Sergeant of the Guard,” the Legionary on gate duty hollered. Then to Alerio, he ordered. “Stay right there, sir.”

  He added the sir because to ignore the possibility of the rider being a staff officer was to invite trouble.

  “Name, sir?” an Optio asked while crossing from a post building.

  “Tribune Alerio Carvilius Sisera,” Alerio replied.

  “Go ahead, sir,” the NCO instructed.

  Alerio kneed the horse and as the mount moved into the camp, the Legionary turned to his Sergeant.

  “Do you know him, Optio?” he inquired.

  “No, I don’t,” admitted the Sergeant of the Guar
d. “But I recognize battle wounds. And that Tribune has seen more combat than almost anyone in this camp. Scars like his tell of an impatient man and not one to be held up by the likes of us. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” the sentry acknowledged.

  ***

  Alerio reined in at the headquarters building, leaped to the ground, and marched into the office.

  “I need to see Colonel Claudius,” he announced to the staff.

  “The Colonel is hosting a dinner,” a Centurion replied. “Come back tomorrow and I’ll put you on the schedule.”

  Alerio about faced and marched from the office. On the street, he broke into a jog. Two blocks away, he marched onto the porch of the Battle Commander’s private quarters.

  “Name, sir,” the Legionary on duty asked.

  “Alerio Sisera,” Alerio responded. “I need to see the Battle Commander.”

  “Tribune Sisera! You are unexpected,” Gaius Claudius called through the open window. “Come in.”

  Alerio crossed the threshold, walked to the main room, braced, saluted, and began to sweat. Along the walls were the Colonel’s bodyguards, a scattering of Junior Tribunes, and several young priests. Their presence being normal, they barely registered.

  The Battle Commander lounged at the head of a table. On either side of the room, staff officers holding cups of vino occupied couches. They also were of no consequence to Alerio. However, the Priest of Jupiter on the divan next to Gaius Claudius caused perspiration to break out on his forehead.

  “Sir, can we talk in private?” Alerio requested.

  “This is my command staff,” Claudius announced, “and my honored guest, Cleric Rastellus. So, speak up.”

  “Sir, I think it’s best if we…” Alerio started to say.

  “Tribune Sisera. I am not accustomed to repeating myself,” Gaius Claudius exclaimed. “I sent you on a mission. Report!”

  Not sure if the Battle Commander was showing off and feeling the need to display his authority. Or, if the vino had overwhelmed his senses. In either case, a request from the Colonel amounted to an unquestionable order. Before Alerio could formulate a response that concealed information from the priest, Claudius added.