Death Caller (Clay Warrior Stories Book 13)
Page 24
The riders turned off the boulevard, trotted up a driveway, and reined in at the front door of a city villa.
“Tribune Alerio Sisera,” the Centurion announced while saluting. “The forty-fifth Cavalry Century of the Central Legion is honored to have escorted you home.”
Alerio returned the salute and responded, “Centurion, it is good to be home. Thank you.”
Five figures marched from the Maximus Villa. Two flanked each side of the front door while Civi Affatus marched to Alerio.
“Welcome home, Tribune Sisera,” the former NCO greeted him.
“Optio, are you drunk?” Alerio question as he slid off the horse.
“Sir, I was part of your funeral procession,” Civi informed him. “It is expected.”
“Where are my parents?” Alerio asked while passing the NCO a bundle.
“With the guests at your funeral feast,” Civi replied. “Do you want me to announce you?”
“No, no, I’ll handle that chore,” Alerio informed him. “Put the bundle in the Senator’s office for me.”
“Yes, sir,” Civi declared. Then he saluted and exclaimed. “It’s good to have you home, Tribune Sisera.”
Alerio marched between the men-at-arms standing at the front door and entered the villa.
***
Servants scurried between attendees. Moving in controlled chaos, they refilled mugs of vino and replaced empty platters of food. The funeral feast sprawled from where the overflow of lesser guests reclined in an adjoining room, all the way into the great room where Spurius Carvilius Maximus and Aquila Carvilius held court.
As with all funeral feasts, the talk earlier had been of the deceased with much expression of sorrow. But the dead can not help a business deal, assist in one’s social standing, collect coins for a temple, or create a political faction. By the time Alerio entered the villa, the conversations had moved far afield of the guest of honor. In small groups, people talked of their own needs.
“Hello, Cleric Evandrus,” Alerio greeted the Priest of Jupiter from Alban Hills. “Did you get that letter off praising the generosity of Senator Maximus?”
Seeing who was speaking, Evandrus spit a mouthful of vino across a platter of food. An older priest, dressed in a much better robe, noticed the provincial cleric’s distress, and looked up.
“What seems to be the problem, Tribune?” Rastellus inquired.
“There is no problem,” Alerio replied. “I was just asking about a letter Evandrus was going to send about a gift to the temple from the Senator.”
“Oh, that has been handled,” Rastellus said dismissively. Obviously, the Priest of Jupiter failed to recognize Alerio from Colonel Claudius’ dinner party. “Fetial Priest Mattia is taking a personal interest in the matter. He asked us to distance ourselves from the Carvilius Maximus household.”
“Yet here you are eating the Senator’s food and spitting out his vino,” Alerio remarked. “I guess I’ll have to have a talk with this Fetial Priest.”
“You, a Tribune, will have a talk with a Fetial Priest?” Rastellus questioned. “I do not believe you have the authority. However, based on your attitude, I am considering a report to your Colonel about your impudence.”
“You are in luck, priest,” Alerio told him. “I believe Gaius Claudius is in the main room.”
“Such audacity and disrespect,” Rastellus blustered. As the priest from Jupiter’s Temple in Rome spoke, he ignored Evandrus’ tugging on his sleeve to get the priest’s attention. Finally, a fuming Rastellus demanded. “I will have your name, Tribune.”
“Alerio Carvilius Sisera,” Alerio stated.
The heads of people in the smaller room jerked in his direction. Before Alerio left to make his entrance into the main feasting room, he placed a hand on Evandrus’ shoulder and squeezed.
“I expect another letter thanking the Senator,” Alerio instructed. “Maybe, you should note an additional donation of five gold coins from him. Do not disappoint me, again, priest.”
Then, Alerio straightened his back and marched into the great room.
***
After the tears, hugs, and greetings, Alerio was given a couch near his adopted parents. He ate while regaling the attendees with the story of the ghost Legion and his daring escape.
He neglected mentioning the five brothers and his regret at their deaths. In the back of his mind, Alerio realized he could no longer be just a swordsman and the instrument of death for the Goddess. He needed to grow into a proper leader.
Early in the morning the last guest left. Aquila gave Alerio a peck and a pat on the cheek before hugging him hard and going off to bed.
“I have something for you, General,” Alerio offered. “It’s in your office.”
They strolled arm in arm down the hallway. Spurius leaned into the younger man as if to assure himself that Alerio was actually present.
“I will tell you, son,” Spurius Maximus admitted. “My greatest gift is you being here.”
“Beyond what’s on your desk,” Alerio submitted. “Our issue with Mattia is resolved.”
Maximus unrolled the bundle and exposed a sword.
“I carried that all the way from Sardinia for you,” Alerio told him.
Spurius Maximus picked up the Noricum sword, examined it, and tested the balance with several swings.
“A little long for shield work,” Maximus observed. Then he changed subjects. “What happened with Mattia?”
“Did you know the Fetial Priest carried a poisoned dagger?” Alerio commented. “He did. And managed to stab himself with it.”
“One must be careful with blades,” Maximus remarked. “I’ll put the pair of swords on the wall with my weapons display.”
“What pair of swords?” Alerio questioned.
“While you were missing, a Centurion showed up with another of these,” Maximus related. He held up the sword. “After hearing about your last actions, I wasn’t in the mood for admiring foreign weapons.”
“Centurion Pashalis is a good man,” Alerio stated. “Where is the sword he brought you?”
“Behind my door,” Maximus told him.
Alerio located the weapon, walked to the center of the room, and motioned for the Senator to join him.
“Strike my sword,” Alerio directed. “Hard, make it count.”
The Senator as a young man had fought in many battles. At the insistence of his adopted son, he struck with authority. Almost as clear as a bell, the steel blades rang.
“There isn’t a notch or a curling of the edges on either blade,” Maximus professed after inspecting both swords. “What manner of steel is this?”
“It’s made from iron ore mined in a region to the northeast of the Adriatic Sea,” Alerio reported. “According to the fisherman who sailed me to a major port, the Noricums are warriors and traders. They live about sixty miles from the sea.”
“What does that have to do with these swords?” Maximus inquired.
“We need a boat load of that ore,” Alerio advised. “We’ll smelt it down, make steel, and forge test swords.”
“And if the gladii are this hard,” Maximus exclaimed while slashing the sword through the air. “Everyone will want a gladius made from Noric steel.”
“Yes, sir,” Alerio acknowledged.
“I’ll get a merchant ship and an expedition headed that way tomorrow,” the Senator promised. Then he got quiet and studied his adopted son. “I am glad you are home.”
“It is good to be home,” Alerio agreed.
Chapter 37 – Dirt and Identity
The team of stallions blew hard, dropped low, and strained. Above their heads a whip cracked and from behind a harsh voice bellowed.
“Pull, pull,” Alerio screamed.
Sweat glistened on his naked torso and his own muscles flexed under the tension. As if his strength could enhance the power of a team of plow horses, Alerio pulled to the limit of his endurance.
Then cracks reverberated in the air as the tree stump’s de
ep root system snapped. Freed from the underground anchors, the stump bumped out of its bed, flew into the air, and cut a furrow in the earth before Alerio could rein in the pair of excited horses.
After unhooking the stump, he walked the stallions to a trough of water.
“A Legionary always takes care of his equipment,” former Centurion Accantus observed as he rode up the slope. “Speaking of taking care, you’ve been at this for a week without a day off.”
Alerio looked around, studying the hilly landscape. Fallen trees and stumps lay as if deposited by a flood. Bending down, he scooped up a handful of rich topsoil.
“Aquila Carvilius wants a vineyard,” Alerio offered. He allowed the soil to run through his fingers. “The project has been delayed too long.”
“You do realize sir, we have crews who can clear and prepare the land,” Accantus informed him. “Unless you are doing something else?”
“What do you mean?” Alerio challenged.
“I mean sometimes a man needs hard work to reach a conclusion,” Accantus theorized. “Or a good sweat to make a decision.”
“And what decision would that be?” Alerio asked.
“If I knew that Master Sisera,” Accantus admitted. “I wouldn’t be me. I’d be you.”
“And who am I?” Alerio inquired, allowing a little of his thinking to drift into the conversation.
“We know who you are,” Accantus informed him. “Maybe the proper question is what are you?”
From down on the flat of the farm, a Legion carrier galloped between green fields. He reached the toe of the slope, kneed the horse, and rode effortless up to the pair of men.
“Tribune Sisera?” he asked.
“I’m Sisera,” Alerio identified himself.
“Sir, compliments of Colonel Bonum Digessi, Battle Commander for Calatinus Legion South,” the messenger announced as he handed Alerio a sealed message. “I am ordered to await your reply.”
Alerio scanned the letter then peered up at the mounted courier.
“Please inform Colonel Digessi that I will report to the Legion within the week,” Alerio told him. As the courier rode down the hill, Alerio shifted his attention to the farm manager and admitted. “At least I know what I am for the rest of the year.”
“And what is that sir?” Accantus inquired.
“A Tribune of the Legion. I’ve been ordered back to Sicilia,” Alerio replied. He folded the letter and shoved it into a pouch. Then almost sadly, he relinquished his part in preparing the land for Aquila’s vineyard. “Now Accantus, you can bring up your crews.”
The End
A note from J. Clifton Slater
Congratulations, you have read through 13 books in the Clay Warrior Stories series. We have taken Alerio from an undersized lad to the son of a wealthy and powerful man and a confident staff officer of the Legion. Some may not realize it, but those who sent me ideas about Tribune Sisera’s life will recognize their input in his development. While the historical events are set in a timeline, comments in your e-mails help shape Alerio’s personal story.
In case you were wondering, the sausage quote that Alerio utters in the café was from book 18 of ‘Homer’s the Odyssey’. And the Latin word for sausage was botulus. As in botulism, which tells us that not all butchers in ancient Rome were proficient in the making of cured meat products.
Coins varied in value and I used the 25 Silver equals one Gold with 10 Bronze coins for one Silver exchange rate. The names of the coins and exchange value varied over the centuries. As I did with military ranks, the monetary names were simplified.
The marshes at Ostia, on both sides of the Tiber River, were salt producing areas. From roughly 450 B.C. through the 19th Century, the drying ponds supplied sea salt to the population of Rome. An important mineral, salt preserved meats, was used in offerings to the deities, in the leather tanning process, in preparations of medicine, and for flavoring food.
Around 658 B.C., the Kingdom of Rome and the city of Alba Longa were preparing to go to war. Rather than armies fighting, which would weaken both cities, the third King of Rome, Tullus Hostilius, and the King of Alba Longa decided to have champions fight and settle the dispute. Rome’s fighters were the Horatii triplets and their adversaries were the three Curiatii brothers.
It was such a good story, I had to use parts of it in ‘Death Caller’. May the ancient historian, Livy, forgive me.
The location where I placed Mattia’s fake armory was chosen for its modern history. For 30 years Malagrotta, Italy was the trash dump for Rome. In 2013, the dump at Malagrotta failed to meet European Union Standards and was closed. But in 2020, the overflowing trash from the eternal city forced politicians to talk about opening another rubbish dump in the same area.
Fantasy writers love to make up rare steels to use for their edged weapons. Thankfully for me, as a historical adventure writer, I did not have to invent a unique steel. Noricum was a region defined by modern Austria and part of Slovenia. Celtic Tribes settled the area and by the 2nd Century B.C. the area was known for iron ore that created Noric Steel. By the 1st Century B.C., the steel was coveted by the Legions for its hardness and quality. Beyond iron ore rich in natural magnesium (the secret ingredient), Noricum provided a plant called Saliunca, meaning the Wild. A relative to lavender it grew in abundance and was used as a perfume according to Historian Pliny the Elder.
I found the dichotomy of steel versus flowers to be a fun contrast. Thus, I used Noricum mercenaries as bodyguards for the return of Admiral Hannibal Gisco to introduce Noric steel. After surviving his court martial, the government of Carthage assigned Gisco to Sardinia where he met his fate. The historical details are few, leaving the scenes of his end to my imagination. Which is pure joy for a historical fiction writer.
Later, after the victory at Sulci, General/Consul Sulpicius Paterculus’ Legion was defeated by General Hanno. Although Rome failed to remove Carthage from Sardinia, the loss of ships-of-war ended the immediate threat from the island.
And a final note. In ancient Rome to lament the dead of a wealthy or famous person, a funeral procession was organized. Either paid performers or household personnel were given wax masks and instructed to march through Rome crying and wailing about the loss. I found few specifics about the processions in my research. But as the ancient Romans were religious and drank vino, I imagined the funeral processions drank, visited temples, and asked the Gods and Goddesses for blessings for the deceased.
Alerio’s funeral procession touched on all the temples that existed around the forum. Later years would see more temples added to the location. And during the Imperial era, the forum was moved to make room for even more temples and buildings. But for Alerio’s funeral, the procession stopped at all the temples that were available between Velian Ridge to the southeast and the top of Capitoline Hill to the northwest in 258 B.C.
If you have comments or thoughts, please email me:
GalacticCouncilRealm@gmail.com
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Until we meet again, Alerio Carvilius Sisera and I wish you good health and offer you a hardy, Rah!
I am J. Clifton Slater and I write military adventure both Future and Ancient
Books by J. Clifton Slater
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#11 Unjust Sacrifice
#12 Muted Implications
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