“Who in Hades sent a Legion weapons’ instructor to teach tactics to a potential enemy?” Maximus demanded. “And if Sisera wanted to send me a message, he could have written a letter.”
“Could the two items be connected?” Tomas pondered.
“How is that possible?” the General questioned.
From the doorway, Belen cleared his throat. Maximus held out a hand as an invitation for the Greek to voice his opinion.
“You pointed out Senior Tribune Dispansus,” the secretary offered. “Where is the staff officer assigned?”
“That is a good question,” the Senator acknowledged. “But you are suggesting a Senior Tribune is interfering with Legion mail. That would be hard to prove and highly illegal.”
“It would explain why you haven’t heard from Centurion Sisera,” Belen proposed.
“And why he is in Echetla teaching our enemies how to kill Legionaries?” Tomas growled.
“Belen. Get me an appointment with Consul Gaius Duilius,” Maximus ordered. “And send another letter to Messina.”
“Another letter, Senator?” the secretary asked.
“Yes. Only in this one, order Centurion Sisera to report to me as soon as possible,” Maximus instructed. The Senator paused and his breathing came in short, sharp gasps showing his anger. “A vendetta I can understand. But when men stomp on Legion traditions, all ties to decorum are severed. And there is no restraint on their deeds.”
“What does that mean, General?” Tomas Kellerian inquired.
“It means war, armorer,” Spurius Maximus replied.
***
The Consuls’ offices occupied a corner of the senate building. One suite sat empty. Its occupant, a captive of the Qart Hadasht Empire. As if to make up for the missing Consul, the second office resembled a battlefield headquarters. Junior Tribunes raced between the desks of Senior Tribunes and Senior Centurions. And couriers dashed from the building with messages for Legion garrisons spread around the Republic and Sicilia. The marching Legions had been disbanded a couple of months ago and the Legionaries released to return home for the fall harvest.
“General Duilius, thank you for seeing me,” Spurius Maximus declared as he strutted into the Consul’s office. “I appreciate you making a hole in your calendar to see me.”
“Spurius. In a week, I will be back on the senate floor,” Gaius Duilius advised. “It would be unwise to deny a potential ally. Please sit.”
“I don’t seem to be wielding the weight I once did,” Spurius admitted as he settled into a chair.
“Over the years, I’ve watched you work, General,” Gaius stated with a smile. “You have a way of dodging rocks, collecting them, and chucking them back at your opponents. What can I do for you, senior Senator?”
“It’s a simple question but one I did not want to put in writing. And please, Consul, do not read more into it than is advisable,” Spurius warned. “What position does Senior Tribune Ignazio Dispansus hold in your organization?”
“Interesting that you used the expression read into it,” Gaius reflected. “I inherited Dispansus from Consul Scipio. Along with a stable of opinion breathing staff officers. Most I managed to farm out. But Senior Tribune Dispansus has powerful friends. I was pressured into keeping him.”
“I won’t ask who backed the Senior Tribune,” Spurius remarked. The Senator figured if not Senator Megellus himself, it was his supporters acting as alternates who pushed for the Tribune. “What I am interested in is what position does Dispansus hold in your organization?”
“The Senior Tribune is in charge of the Legion department for incoming reports and letters,” Gaius described to Spurius. “Are you feeling alright, General? Can I get you some watered vino?”
The questions resulted from Spurius Maximus’ face going pale. The blood drained when he realized Senator Megellus and Senior Tribune Dispansus were filtering and possibly manipulating the information received by a sitting Consul. And by extension, the data required by the Legion to make good decisions.
“I am fine General Duilius, thank you,” Spurius said refusing any refreshments. He stood, saluted, then added. “I look forward to welcoming you back to the floor of the Senate next week.”
“And I look forward to being a simple Senator again,” Gaius admitted.
The two men locked wrists before separating. Gaius Duilius returned to the mountain of paperwork requiring his review and signature. And Spurius Maximus strolled down the hallway with instructions for his attorneys already forming in his mind.
Chapter 13 – An Honorary Captain
Fresh water flowed into the empty wineskin. When the belly swelled to capacity, Alerio Sisera lifted the skin from Fiumedinisi creek and took a drink.
“Fifteen miles to Messina,” he advised the horse.
Busy drinking, the mare ignored the Centurion. When the horse finished, it moseyed to an area of green sprouts and began to eat.
“You dine,” Alerio urged. “I’ll snack on this delicious bread and cheese.”
He pulled the Golden Valley dagger and cut a small piece of cheese into four tiny slices. The same preparation created four equally small slices of bread. As the last of the rations he begged from the Legion command at the crossroads, the meager snack marked the end of his supplies.
When the guards in Echetla took his helmet, robe, armor, gladius, pugio, and coin purse, they failed to check under Alerio’s tunic. To Ezio’s benefit, the guards had not found and given the assassin’s blade to the Sub Commander. As an ally of the Golden Valley, Alerio was immune to the death threat for possessing such a dagger. The Sub Commander was not.
Centurion Sisera licked the crumbs off the blade and smacked his lips. The taste and the slices did not satisfy his hunger.
“I think you’ve feasted enough,” he expressed to the horse.
Once mounted, Alerio guided the mare northward following the coastal road.
***
Messina sat untouched by improvements. The low, easily defendable walls and the narrow gate designed to funnel an attacking force, stood unchanged. As well as a surly Sons of Mars guard posted at the gateway.
“Halt. You can turn around,” the sentry instructed. “We don’t need mendicants in the city.”
“That is choice,” Alerio laughed, “coming from a town full of vagabonds.”
“You dare to insult the Sons of Mars?” he shot back while dipping his spear in Alerio’s direction. “The fee for entering is now doubled.”
“I thought the Legion was in charge here?” Alerio inquired hoping to calm the sentry by engaging him.
“I am an axillary infantryman,” the guard bragged. He jabbed with the spear to make his point. “And you are denied passage into the city.”
“You’re making my horse nervous,” Alerio warned. “Move aside, or I will break the shaft over your head.”
“Sergeant of the Guard,” the sentry shouted. His sudden yelling in the mare’s face upset the horse and it pranced backward. “Sergeant of the Guard!”
Alerio slipped off the horse’s back and strutted straight at the guard.
“Halt,” the spearman ordered.
With the edge of his palm, Alerio shoved the steel tip aside. Staying connected to the shaft, the weapons’ instructor grabbed it. Sliding his hand along the shaft, he used the length of the spear to control the sentry.
The guard pulled and twisted, attempting to dislodge his weapon from the stranger’s grip. If he could free the spear…
In mid tug, Alerio released the shaft and kicked the sentry with his foot. A front leg kick, it did little damage. But the hobnailed boot, impacting with the chest armor, sent the sentry flying backward.
The guard sprawled on the ground looking beyond the spear at the blue late afternoon sky. Held up by his helmet, the shaft extended from his head off to the right. Dazed, the spearman watched in horror as the traveler stood over him.
“You frightened my horse,” Alerio scolded the guard.
Then he stomped on the shaft.
Bridged between the man’s helmet and the road’s surface, the shaft cracked under Alerio’s foot.
The sound of shuffling feet preceded the arrival of four additional auxiliary spearmen and the Sergeant of the Guard.
“Stop right there,” the NCO warned.
Alerio snatched the spear from the ground and drove his knee into the shaft. From a single spear with a broken shaft, it became two weapons. A jagged and splintered end on one pole made it dangerous. But the real problem for the guards came from the steel spearhead on the other pole.
“We have a misunderstanding here,” Alerio remarked.
“I see no misunderstanding,” the Sergeant replied. “You’ve assaulted a Son of Mars and you will suffer for it.”
“You need to get a Legion Centurion or an Optio out here,” Alerio suggested, “before someone gets hurt.”
Faces appeared in the gateway. More joined and soon a crowd gathered. Expecting entertainment, they waited for the fighting to begin.
“It must be a slow day for pirating. Is Captain Frigian in port?” Alerio questioned. When the Sergeant simply glared back, Alerio yelled to the gateway. “Is anyone here from Frigian’s crew?”
“No. Frigian is out of port,” an oarsman called back. Then he pointed at the four spearmen. “What are you going to do to them, Captain Sisera?”
“I hadn’t planned on teaching a class,” Alerio replied to the rower who recognized him as an honorary Captain in the Sons of Mars. “I really just wanted to get something to eat.”
“Well hurry up and lay them out,” the oarsman urged. “Then we can go get a meal and a pint.”
“Who are you?” the Sergeant of the Guard asked.
“Captain Sisera of the Messina Militia,” Alerio said to the city militia NCO. “And a Centurion of the Legion. Whichever you prefer.”
“He’s a fine weapons’ instructor to boot,” the oarsman from the gateway added. “Mean as a snake, but you’ll learn enough to stay alive. Go on, attack him and let’s get this over with. The Captain is hungry and so am I.”
The Sergeant thought hard about being encouraged to attack a stranger. Fighting was acceptable, but the forgone conclusion that his guards would be defeated worried him.
“Captain Sisera, can you really defeat four spearmen?” the NCO inquired.
“Two of your men are timid,” Alerio offered. “They will back away when the first guard falls. That will leave me against you and the other spearman. So, yes Sergeant of the Guard, I can. But I’d rather eat.”
“In that case, we will not stop you,” the NCO told Alerio. “Clear a path.”
The crowd at the gate groaned as Captain Sisera walked between the guards. In the distance, the mare galloped away from the yelling humans.
***
“Can I ask what you are wearing, Centurion Sisera?” the Tribune inquired.
Alerio squinted his eyes against the bright sunlight coming through the window of the paymaster’s office.
“A vest and Greek pants, sir,” Alerio replied.
The leather vest covered some of Alerio’s bare chest and the trousers, constructed of loose cloth striped in yellow, blue, and gray, hung off him like a billowing sail.
“That is a strange uniform to wear to a Legion office,” the staff officer remarked.
“Sir, I rode in from Echetla yesterday and stopped to get something to eat,” Alerio reported. “After meeting some friends, it turned into a reunion. Someone noted my traveling tunic was soiled and someone else brought these for me to wear.”
“Very generous of them, Centurion,” the Tribune stated. “What can I do for you?”
“After taking Enna, General Hamilcar marched his army down to Kamarina on the coast,” Alerio reported. “Tribune Niveus Trigoni needs at least three Centuries of infantry at Echetla to guard the passes.”
“And he sent you to deliver the message?” the staff officer inquired. He indicated Alerio’s strange dress with a hand. “And you arrive in that outfit to deliver the dispatch? Where is the written assessment?”
“Well, sir. The Tribune didn’t exactly send me,” Alerio admitted. “I escaped.”
“From detention?” the Tribune asked. “You escaped from custody?”
“Yes, sir,” Alerio confirmed.
“Sentries get in here,” the Tribune called for the Legionaries stationed outside his door. They barged into the office with gladii drawn. “Take Centurion Sisera to a supply building and lock him in until we sort this out.”
“But sir, it wasn’t Tribune Trigoni who arrested me,” Alerio explained. “It was the Echetla city council who put me in the cell.”
“You, a Centurion, offended a foreign government,” the staff officer summed up the conversation. “Even more reason to lock you up. Get him out of my sight.”
After the guards shoved Alerio through the doorway, a Senior Tribune strolled in from a side door.
“Who was that?” he asked.
“Another infantry officer who can’t control his base urges on a diplomatic mission,” the Tribune answered. “We should be more careful about who gets those assignments.”
“They get promoted during combat but afterward, their lack of class shows,” the senior staff officer remarked. “Maybe we should restrict those assignments to noblemen.”
“Someone with a name and a reputation to protect,” the Tribune added. “Not a brawling farmer.”
“Keep him locked up until Senator Flaccus has time to render judgement and punishment,” the senior staff officer instructed. “He should get to the case quickly. The Ides of March is coming, and the Senator needs to be in the Capital to vote on the new Consuls.”
***
The cool dark room when combined with the late night, too much food and wine provided excellent sleeping conditions. Alerio remembered waking once when the door opened. A steaming bowl of stew and the aroma of bread lulled him from the cot. He ate and went back to sleep. Somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice called out for the Centurion to pay attention. But the voice was smothered by a blanket and sleep.
“Let’s go Captain,” a gruff voice woke Alerio.
“What? What’s going on?” he asked.
Still in a fog, there was no time to object when a huge pair of arms snatched him from the bed and tossed him over a broad shoulder.
“Wait, wait,” Alerio protested.
The realization of who was taking him came when the man hopped a short wall. Alerio felt the muscles of his porter flex. Only one of the massive Sons of Mars’ oarsman had that much beef on his frame. And had the strength to walked or rather jogged through Messina in the middle of the night with Alerio on his shoulder.
“Put me down,” Alerio insisted. “Right now.”
From a great height, he fell to the alleyway. If not for his conditioning and a bend of his knees, Alerio would have ended up sprawled on the pavers.
“What do you think you are doing?” he demanded.
Four big oarsmen clustered around him.
“Someone said the Legionaries were beating you,” the oarsman from the gate reported. “We couldn’t let them get away with that.”
“Instead of drinking butter milk,” another remarked, “we came for you.”
For the Sons of Mars consuming buttermilk eased stomach troubles. But drinking it before rowing out or doing something dangerous was viewed as a sign of a man’s cowardice souring his gut.
“Of course, you didn’t drink buttermilk,” Alerio complimented the four giants. “But, have you thought of what’s next?”
“Our bireme rows out at dawn,” one announced. “We can hide you until we clear the harbor.”
“But you’ll have to man an oar, Captain,” the last one apologized.
“I look forward to the exercise,” Alerio responded to slaps on the back. “I hope you are heading north. I need to get to the Capital.”
***
Senator Lucius Valerius Flaccus finished breakfast, pushed the tray away, and instructed hi
s secretary.
“We leave for Rome this week,” Flaccus stated. “Let’s clean up my calendar early. What’s the first item?”
“Senator, you have several Legion reports to review,” his assistant told him.
“I hope Senior Tribune Caecilius gets back from Enna soon,” Flaccus remarked while taking the handful of reports. “Because once I leave for the Capital, Legion business will stops and the reports will stack up to the height of Mount Etna.”
“There are meetings with local leaders for the rest of the morning,” the secretary added, “and a military case after lunch.”
He collected the reports as Flaccus signed and approved each order. The Senator offered the next report but there was no hand to receive it.
“Is something wrong?” Flaccus questioned while looking up.
“I apologize, sir,” the assistant said, his mind coming back. “I neglected to inform you of messages from Senator Maximus that came in while you were eating.”
“Let me have those before we tangle with the locals,” Flaccus remarked.
He read the two messages. One letter asked that he alert Centurion Alerio Sisera about an unknown danger. The next letter instructed Sisera to come directly to Villa Maximus in the Capital.
“Seems straight forward,” Flaccus commented. “Have the Legion locate Centurion Alerio Sisera and dispatch him to Rome. I’ll write a letter for him.”
“Very good, Senator,” the assistant confirmed. “Are you ready to meet the Messina council?”
“Send them in,” Flaccus answered without enthusiasm.
The meeting stretched into midday which rushed lunch. Senator Flaccus had just finished when two Legion staff officers arrived.
“Where is the accused?” Flaccus inquired.
“Senator, he escaped last night,” the Senior Tribune replied. He handed a charge sheet to Flaccus and told him. “Someone knocked out the guard and spirited the Centurion away.”
“Those are some dramatic words,” Flaccus suggested. “Why, spirited away?”
“Because we have executed a house-to-house search in Messina and checked all the transports leaving this morning,” the staff officer described. “We went as far as to check a Sons of Mars ship that left the harbor at dawn.”
Muted Implications (Clay Warrior Stories Book 12) Page 9
