***
With his back pressed into a narrow space between two walls, the watcher could observe more than half the façade of the Historia Fae armory. His location split the distance between the front door and the yard gate with a partial view of the road beside the compound.
Shoppers were rushing home for dinner while tradesmen and shopkeepers remained inside their stores to rearrange stock or total the day’s receipts. The lateness of the day, the almost deserted street, and the boredom of watching a sparsely attended business caused the observer’s eyes to water and his stomach to growl.
The street lad ambling along the side wall of the compound caught his eye. It was not so much the lad that interested the watcher. It was the bread in the youth’s arm.
“Nudge him this way,” the watcher prayed to Notus, the God of the South Wind.
The lad sauntered in a zigzag manner, as all youths do, into the middle of the intersection. Finally, as if in answer to the prayer, he turned left and moved towards the watcher.
“I’ll give you three bronze for a loaf,” the watcher called to the urchin.
He remained in the crease between the courses of brick.
The lad stopped and faced the figure in the shadow.
“Six,” Feto replied.
“I can buy a loaf for two bronze,” the observer complained.
“The baker is a few blocks over,” the youth commented. “For a coin I can show you.”
“I don’t need directions,” the watcher complained. “I want a loaf of bread.”
“Six bronze.”
“Fine,” the man said giving in to his hunger.
He dumped coins into his hand and counted out six bronze. When they exchanged coins for bread, the watcher noticed the honey cakes.
“Go see my companion,” the watcher offered, “he loves sweets.”
“Your companion?”
“He is at the divide between buildings just up the street,” the watcher told him.
Monetarily, it was a banner day for the street youth. He earned six bronze coins for bread he didn’t pay for plus, a silver coin waited for him at the completion of the job. Feto should have been ecstatic, but he wasn’t.
“Your companion said you would pay for honey cakes,” Feto said to the second watcher.
“Oh, those are beauties,” the observer gushed. “How much?”
“Six bronze,” the lad answered.
“Good. Give them here,” the man instructed. He reached out as if expecting Feto to handover the cakes.
“King Tantalus of Sipylus stands in a pool but cannot drink the water,” the lad repeated a story he heard from a temple priest, “and beneath a fruit tree with branches that elude his grasp.”
“What are you talking about?” the watcher inquired.
“The curse of a small lad who gives up his goods without payment first,” Feto replied.
“I don’t think the fable is teaching lads to be untrusting,” the man suggested. He held out both arms but, like the cursed King, the sweet cakes remained out of his grasp.
“Seven bronze,” the street youth said adjusting his price.
“You said six,” the man complained.
“It’s late and my mother is expecting me home,” Feto lied.
“And you have to go buy another loaf and more honey cakes before you can go home,” the watcher answered for Feto. He pulled out a coin purse. “Fine. I’ll pay you first.”
Feto’s heart pounded and he wanted out of this deal. But the coin purse in the man’s hand was fat. And the Centurion with the scars, despite acting nice, seemed dangerous.
The watcher counted out three bronze coins and displayed them in his palm for the youth to see.
Unexpectedly, Feto handed him a honey cake. Confused at first, the man fumbled the cake and the purse. Finally, he held the cake and balanced the purse on his wrist. Using two fingers, he pulled another coin and placed it in his palm next to the purse.
Feto handed him the second cake.
The man took the honey cake, lifted it to his mouth, and gripped it with his teeth. During the transition, the cake blocked the man’s view of his palm, the coins, his wrist, and the…
Feto snatched the coin purse, spun, and ran for the side street. Boots pounding on the pavers warned the street youth that the watcher was in pursuit.
“Are you fast?” the Centurion had asked.
Feto thought he was a sprinter. But the closeness of the pounding feet behind him meant the man might be faster. Only the head start kept the lad out of the watcher’s grasp.
Bending into the sprint, Feto raced for the end of the block.
Chapter 16 – Little Pony Soldiers
Alerio leaned nonchalantly against the bricks. From his position around the corner, he could hear the lad’s feet slapping on the pavers interspersed with the thumping of heavier boots. At first, they were muffled by distance, but rapidly grew louder. When the sounds came from half a block away, the Legion officer slipped his hands to his throat.
Gripping the new black silk circling his neck, he pulled it up. From a long scarf, the material became a face mask, hiding his features.
When Feto’s small frame zoomed by, Alerio threw his arm out at neck height.
The chest of a tall man slammed into the limb. He almost bulled his way through Alerio’s overextended arm. Curling his arm, the weapons’ instructor let the man pull him around the corner and away from the wall. A forearm to the back of the watcher’s neck drove the runner to his knees.
Alerio rode the falling man to the pavers and finished the attack with a punch. The watcher slammed into the street and lay still. Springing to his feet, Alerio pivoted, threw his hands up in a guard position, and steeled himself to face the second watcher.
Except, the second man was nowhere to be found. Although one chased the boy, the other watcher did not abandon his post. This told Alerio that the pair were disciplined. Turning to the unconscious watcher, Alerio noticed the riding boots and the Legion sword belt. In addition to the Samnite sword, the cavalryman carried a pugio.
Alerio rolled the watcher over and unbuckled the weapons’ belt. Then he took three pouches off the man to complete the robbery.
Feto danced back and looked down at the unconscious watcher.
“Give it here,” Alerio ordered. After the lad handed over the man’s coin purse, Alerio warned. “Get out of here and don’t tell anybody about this.”
A woman screamed from a block away. Alerio tucked the sword and Legion dagger under an arm and briefly studied the runner’s face. Then Centurion Sisera and Feto sprinted away from the street mugging.
***
Evenings were big for dinner, drinks, and entertainment at the Chronicles Humanum Inn. Thomasious Harricus provided everything his guests needed to come early and stay late. During that time, the customers would spend coins, mingle, and Harricus’ staff, while serving, would collect gossip. At the end of a good evening, the gossip would be more valuable than the profits.
Alerio stuck to the deepening shadows and worked his way around the arriving carriages and horses. On the private drive, he climbed the gate and dropped onto the other side. Alone and away from the arriving crowds, Alerio walked to the stable.
“Most guests use the main entrance,” Erebus remarked. He eased out of the shadows and urged Alerio. “Come this way.”
He carried a lamp to an empty workbench in the stable, struck flint, and lit the wick.
“How did you know,” Alerio inquired, “that I needed privacy?”
“You came over the gate as smoothly as a sneak thief. Clutched those pouches as if they were taken from the Temple of Nemesis,” Erebus listed, “and cradled the weapons belt under your arm like you just pilfered it.”
“I did not take the pouches from the God Who Punishes Arrogance,” Alerio insisted as he dropped the items on the tabletop. “However, I did steal them.”
“May I ask who the unlucky fellow is?” the barbarian inquired.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Alerio replied.
He dumped the coin purse. Bronze and silver coins fell from the leather pouch.
“One gold,” Alerio observed.
“There shouldn’t be any.” Erebus commented. “Samnite cavalryman aren’t paid enough to walk around with gold coins.”
“How do you figure that?” Alerio asked. “I mean the cavalry, not the pay.”
Erebus pointed to an inscription on the sword.
“It reads Sixth Samnite Cavalry Legion Auxiliary,” the barbarian explained.
“Are any of Master Harricus’ little Clay Ears around?” Alerio inquired.
“Sure, but why?” the barbarian questioned.
“I need a lad to toss a note over the wall at the Historia Fae,” Alerio described. “Tomas Kellerian should know he is under surveillance by the Samnite Legion Auxiliary.”
***
Alerio choose to eat in the rear courtyard. Sounds of revelry and music drifted from the great room and he sprawled in a chair. Hearing the music of an Ides of March song, he hummed along.
“The tale of a noble lad
Who decided it wasn’t bad
To switch at this season
Try the life of a plebeian
Blending in was the reason
A name more nebulous
His noble name exchanged
For Papi the rebellious”
“A sacrifice, a dance, and a prayer
Asking the Goddess Anna Perenna
To usher in a good year
Couples work on trust
Men of business fuss
And all citizens sing hosanna
For Anna Perenna
Goddess of the New Year”
“Although born a patrician
Papi sought a New Year’s mission
Up in his room on a whim
He changed tunics to fit in
To one without golden trim
From the villa without a plana
To see who honored the deity
the Goddess Anna Perenna”
“Upon a couple Papi came
What manner is your game
With their arms intertwined
They shared cups of wine
As the Goddess designed
We drink cups to strive
Each cup shared means
Years our marriage survives”
“A sacrifice, a dance, and a prayer
Asking the Goddess Anna Perenna
To usher in a good year
Couples work on trust
Men of business fuss
And all citizens sing hosanna
For Anna Perenna
Goddess of the New Year”
“In a parade of citizens
Papi was but one of dozens
Stumbling with the crowd
They shouted proud aloud
And everyone avowed
As this New Year does begin
bring happiness at the end
When the year finally unspins”
“Towering voices boomed
To the argument he zoomed
Why do you yell and swear
Papi questioned the affair
On New Year’s Eve you dare
The law is to even the books
All debts are to be paid on the Ides
Even those of this crook”
“A sacrifice, a dance, and a prayer
Asking the Goddess Anna Perenna
To usher in a good year
Couples work on trust
Men of business fuss
And all citizens sing hosanna
For Anna Perenna
Goddess of the New Year”
***
“Leadership is lonely duty,” Tomas Kellerian exclaimed as he came around the corner of the inn.
His long legs made quick work of the driveway and he soon stood at Alerio’s small table.
“As is being the armorer to the gods,” Alerio replied while looking up at the tall man. He held up an empty mug. “Vino?”
“Please. It’s thirsty work evading a bunch of little Samnite pony soldiers,” Tomas scoffed. “And secretly arming young Centurions.”
Thomas pulled a bundle off his back and placed it on the ground.
“Why are they watching your business?” Alerio asked while pouring from a pitcher.
Tomas took the mug and gulped half the wine. As he drank, Alerio reached down and untied the bundle. A pull unrolled the fabric and a weapons belt with a gladius and a Legion dagger spilled out.
“I visited Villa Maximus the other day,” Tomas reported. “The Senator was very interested in the substance of your letter, as was I.”
“Got your attention didn’t it,” Alerio offered. “For some reason, my letters to General Maximus weren’t getting through.”
“And his letters weren’t reaching you,” Tomas said closing the loop. “Ever since then, the watchers have been present across the street from the Historia Fae. I didn’t know who they were, but I knew when they moved into my neighborhood.”
Tomas took a chair and the two men sipped and looked up at the night sky. After a few moments, the armorer broke the silence.
“For your own good, Senator Maximus wants you at his villa,” Tomas alerted him.
“I can’t do that,” Alerio protested. “I need to talk with Senior Centurion Gaius Claudius. I can’t do that with the Senator holding me in protective custody at his home.”
“Claudius is the staff officer who led the advanced Centuries into Messina,” Tomas commented. “A Senior Tribune with that much notoriety shouldn’t be hard to find.”
“When or if Master Harricus does, “Alerio admitted, “I’ll need the flexibility to go to him. The Legion will have to believe a senior staff officer about my actions in Echetla.”
“What actions?” Thomas questioned. “Teaching Legion tactics to a potential enemy?”
“No, Master Kellerian. Desertion from my post.” Alerio told him. “It was leave quickly. Or be stretched out flat, chained to a narrow board with iron rings until the Goddess Nenia came for me.”
“Sounds less labor intensive than crucifixion,” Tomas ventured. “Although it would take longer to die, I would think.”
“Not a pleasant way to go,” Alerio added. “Can you get a message to the Senator that I am alright?”
“I’ll go myself,” Tomas volunteered, “on one condition.”
“What condition, Master Armorer?” Alerio asked.
“That you pour me another cup of that fine vino.”
Alerio lifted the pitcher and refilled Tomas Kellerian’s mug.
***
Three days later, sweat dripped from weapons’ instructor Sisera’s body and his muscles screamed for an end. But his mind needed to think, and for Alerio that meant physical exertion.
The two heavy practice gladii flew back, then in turn, powered into the drill pole. Loud reports marked each strike and backslash. Following each other in a tight pattern, the strikes blended into the reverberation of rolling thunder.
“Argh…,” a voice called from behind him.
As if a warship when the rowing ended or a grinding wheel when the metalwork stopped pumping, the Legion officer reduced the rhythm of his practice strokes until the wooden gladii stopped moving. Only than did he turned to find Thomasious Harricus standing behind him with his mouth clamped shut.
“Can I talk now?” the innkeeper questioned.
“Master Harricus, I am sorry, I didn’t see you,” Alerio apologized.
“Or hear me,” Harricus complained.
“I had to think,” Alerio added.
“As I said before, remind me not to be around when you are exasperated,” Harricus told him. “But I finally have news.”
“About Senior Tribune Claudius?” Alerio questioned.
“Him, yes. And also, Senator Maximus,” the innkeeper described. “Gaius Claudius has been up along the Etruscan boarder. But, according to t
he social gossip, he is coming to the Capital for the Ides of March. He has ten party invitations waiting to fill his social calendar.”
“I can catch him here,” Alerio remarked. “That is a relief. But you mentioned General Maximus?”
“Again, from hearsay sources, I understand your mentor is in decline,” Harricus stated. Seeing the horrified look on Alerio’s face, he corrected himself. “By decline, I mean his senatorial acumen. Factions have aligned against Spurius Maximus. There are rumors he might be forced to resign from the Senate.”
“Do the rumors mention when the blood bath starts?” Alerio asked.
“Blood bath?” Harricus inquired.
“The moment General Spurius Carvilius Maximus slaps down the upstarts,” Alerio replied, “and drives his enemies in the Senate to their knees.”
“I take it, you don’t believe the scandalmongers?” asked the innkeeper.
“I have had the pleasure of watching the General teach lessons to his adversaries,” Alerio educated Thomasious Harricus. “They never suspected anything other than the fates had a hand in their misery.”
“Some would call that strategy,” Harricus suggested. “It really doesn’t have anything to do with physical harm or blood baths.”
“Not the way General Maximus practices it,” Alerio advised.
Act 6
Chapter 17 – Bold Execution
Alerio marched up the brick steps to the temple. He could have picked any of the other temples located around the forum, but the obligation of the Vesta Temple appealed to him.
Besides, he wanted to see the Sacred Flame. At the top of the steps, the wind shifted, and he inhaled the most exotic perfume he had ever experienced.
“Centurion, welcome to the home of Vesta,” a woman greeted him. She wore a white tunic with a matching headband over braided hair. And she came to him in an intoxicating cloud of the fragrance. “How may the Goddess of the Domestic Hearth assist you?”
“I need to secure my personal wealth,” Alerio replied.
He patted the heavy leather bag. Rather than rattle, the weight of the coins gave off a solid thud.
“Your fortune is as secure as the city of Rome herself when under the protection of the Temple of Vesta,” the Vestal Virgin promised. “The Vestalis Maxima is in her office. Would you like to see the eternal flame or go directly to the cloister?”
Muted Implications (Clay Warrior Stories Book 12) Page 11
