Muted Implications (Clay Warrior Stories Book 12)

by J. Clifton Slater

  Donkeys hee-hawing, chickens clucking, and voices calling out items of produce came from his left. The cart had entered the city gate near the farmers market. That was one point of reference. A few turns later, Alerio sniffed the perfume of the Vestal Virgins in the air. It provided him with a second point of reference. Not long after, the cart pulled into a tunnel or a place with a low overhang based on the echo of the horse’s hooves and the cartwheels. It was his third point of reference and a solid identifier. He swore to retrace the path with a vengeance when he was free.

  The temple guards pulled Alerio out of the cart, pushed him through a doorway, and guided the hooded Centurion across a clay tile floor. The taps of his hobnailed boots on the fired clay surface reverberated off a high ceiling. The distinctive sound was his fourth reference point.

  They crossed the floor, descended stairs, and guided Alerio down a hallway. At a point, they opened a door, pushed him in, and pulled the hood.

  “Good morning, Centurion Sisera. Glad you could join me,” Senior Tribune Ignazio Dispansus greeted Alerio. “Guards, tie him to the chair.”

  ***

  Alerio focused on the piercing eyes and the scar high on the senior staff officer’s left cheek. Two guards forced Alerio into a chair and pulled his arms back as he sat. With both arms bound together and forced over the chairback, Alerio was immobilized and his shoulders ached.

  “Why am I here, sir?” he questioned while ignoring the pain.

  “You can drop the sir and all the military clichés,” Dispansus instructed. “You are a plebeian and only good to work my fields.”

  “I am a Centurion of the Legion,” Alerio protested.

  “You are no better than a butcher,” Ignazio Dispansus challenged. “And soon, you’ll be an exiled nuisance.”

  The malice from the Senior Tribune confused Alerio. They had only met one time.

  “How am I anything to you?” Alerio questioned.

  “Oh, you are not anything to me,” Dispansus acknowledged. “Or you weren’t, until this came into my possession.”

  From a pouch, Ignazio Dispansus pulled a piece of paper. He brushed back the edges and straightened the corners before holding it in front of Alerio’s face.

  “That is my voucher,” Alerio protested.

  “I was ordered to deliver you to the Senate on New Year’s Eve,” Dispansus stated. “And the Samnites were doing a good job. But then I found this amazing piece of paper. Who did you rob to collect a fortune? The Legion, an innocent widow, or your senile mentor?”

  “Senator Maximus is more capable than you,” Alerio shot back. “Or, Megellus, your cold fish of a handler.”

  “Tell me, Sisera, what temple is holding your coins?” Dispansus inquired. “Tell me and you could spend the next day in luxury. Or you can spend it sleeping on dirty bricks like the alley rat you are.”

  “A wet slimy log of merda,” Alerio growled.

  “What did you say to me?” the Senior Tribune demanded.

  “I said. You are nothing but a wet slimy log of merda,” Alerio cursed. “When this is over, cūlus, you and I are going to have…”

  One of the temple guards took offense at Alerio’s way of addressing the Senior Tribune. He reached around and punched Alerio in the eye. In addition to splitting the skin under the eye lid, the bare knuckles raked the Centurion’s nose. Fresh blood gushed from both areas.

  “No, no, no,” Ignazio Dispansus screamed. He pulled a cloth from his belt, placed it over Alerio’s nose, squeezed, and ground the rag into Alerio’s face. “He needs to be delivered dirty and defeated. Not beaten. Get the tunic off before it gets fresh blood on it.”

  Alerio withered under the pain but refused to give the staff officer the satisfaction of crying out.

  While Dispansus crushed Alerio’s nose and pressed hard on the cut, the guards sliced the cords and rolled the tunic up to Alerio’s neck. The senior staff officer released the nose and the tunic was jerked over Alerio’s head.

  “I guess I can blame it on the Samnites,” Dispansus decided. He threw the bloody rag into Alerio’s lap. “Hold your own bandage.”

  The blood dripping in Alerio’s eye bothered him more than the leaky nose. Bending forward, he pressed the rag to his eyelid.

  “Would you look at that?” the Senior Tribune exclaimed. To get a better view, he moved behind Alerio and stood admiring the lash scars. “Once a thief, always a thief.”

  “I am not a thief,” Alerio protested.

  “Sure, you are,” Dispansus corrected. “How else do you explain the marks on your back and the voucher? Forgive me, I forget. What temple did you say this was drawn on?”

  “I’ve been hit harder and bled more,” Alerio spit a glob of bloody phlegm where the staff officer had been standing.

  “Common! You really are just a common pack mule,” Dispansus described.

  “I am a combat officer of the Legion,” Alerio insisted.

  “No. You are an accused deserter and murderer,” Dispansus alleged. “You have one chance. Save yourself. At which temple did you deposit the coins?”

  “You aren’t smart enough to do this on your own,” Alerio guessed. “If your master, Satoris Megellus, wants me to stand trial, you can’t stop it. I have no reason to tell you anything.”

  “Not smart enough?” Dispansus laughed. “It was me who isolated you from your mentor. I have a collection of heart felt sentiments from Spurius Maximus and you. And who sent you to Enna? You were supposed to remain away while the politics played out.”

  “If I am so insignificant,” Alerio asked, “why is Megellus afraid of me?”

  “Senator Satoris Megellus isn’t afraid of anyone or anything,” Dispansus exclaimed. “When this is over, he’ll stop the over expansion of the Republic and protect our borders with treaties.”

  “This is all about borders?” Alerio inquired.

  “You aren’t a nobleman. Patricians, like the Senator and me, know what is best,” Dispansus scoffed. “You are nothing. But aren’t you curious about your orders to Echetla?”

  “You sent reports about me to Sicilia while suggesting a strategy on how to appease the Echetla council,” Alerio ventured. “Tribune Trigoni took the bait and me.”

  The senior staff officer got a sour look on his face. It was obvious he did not appreciate how easily the Centurion unwound his clever ploy.

  “But none of that is important now,” Dispansus remarked. “Breeding tells. My name goes back to the founding of the Republic. And your name? It will end with you.”

  “Your noble name, I guess,” Alerio pointed out, “didn’t come with any wealth. Squandered by a drunken father?”

  Ignazio Dispansus shuddered at the insult to his father.

  “What is the name of the temple?” Dispansus demanded.

  “Why did Satoris Megellus want me out of the way?” Alerio asked.

  “Old man Maximus needed to be isolated,” Dispansus responded. “Megellus took his power in the Senate and demonstrated that Villa Maximus isn’t safe to visit. And now, Spurius Maximus will watch his protege be sentenced to the punishment post. And afterward, if you live which I doubt, you’ll be sent into exile.”

  “How can you be sure the Senate will find me guilty?” Alerio inquired.

  “Because you are a lowly plebeian, rose too high in rank, and dared covet a friendship with a nobleman,” the Senior Tribune told Alerio. “To keep your kind in their place, the Senate will convict you in one vote.”

  Alerio lifted his head. Already, the area around his eye and cheek were turning black and blue and puffing up.

  “When this is over,” Alerio threatened. “You and I will have a short talk over a pair of long blades.”

  Chapter 25 – Missing and Found

  The horse entered the garrison stockade and angled for the stables.

  “Not yet,” Pentri urged while pulling the reins and directing the horse in another direction.

  He wanted to let the horse go to eat and rest. He wa
nted to eat and rest himself, but the Lieutenant did neither. Guiding the mount, he walked it to the senior officer’s quarters. After sliding to the ground, he released the horse.

  The exhausted beast moved directly to the stables while the fatigued Lieutenant of cavalry mounted the steps. Across the porch, he hesitated then opened the door.

  “Lieutenant Pentri, good evening, sir,” Major Caraceni’s duty NCO greeted him.

  “The moon is up Sergeant, so technically it is morning,” Pentri mentioned.

  “In that case, sir, Happy New Year’s Eve,” the NCO responded.

  “I have an issue that I need to discuss with Captain Potilius,” Pentri informed the Duty NCO. “It’s not important enough to bother the Major with but, I need guidance before sunrise.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Sergeant acknowledged while picking up a lamp. “I’ll wake the Captain for you. But you should know he has been out on patrol all day and just got back.”

  “I’ll accept responsibility for waking Captain Potilius,” Pentri told him.

  Down the hallway, the NCO opened one of five doors. The light and the lamp vanished into the Captain’s suite. At the end of the hallway, the door to Major Caraceni’s quarters remained in darkness.

  A moment later, the Sergeant emerged and right behind him, the Captain.

  “Let’s talk outside,” Herius Potilius whispered.

  To Pentri, it sounded conspiratorial. But the low volume and location to talk were suggested to keep from disturbing the Major and the second Captain of the cavalry detachment.

  “I apologize for disturbing you at this early hour, sir,” Pentri said while they crossed the porch.

  “Did something happen to the detail for Optio Affatus?” Potilius questioned.

  “No Captain, we escorted a Doctor to Ostia,” Pentri reported, “without incident.”

  “Good to hear. We need Senator Maximus’ support in the Senate and aiding his household guard will keep us in his good graces,” Captain Potilius pointed out. “Ostia you say. Why didn’t you stay for the day? You could have had a proper Samnite breakfast. Those oarsmen eat good from what I hear.”

  “That’s why I wanted to speak with you in private, Captain,” Pentri told his senior officer. “I took the patrol to the Samnite quarters at Ostia. While there, I chanced to speak with a fleet Major. He said, he was waiting for a messenger from Major Caraceni to begin a rebellion.”

  In the moonlight, the Captain’s face fell then he brightened.

  “Maybe you read the conversation wrong,” Potilius offered. “The Major could have been referring to drastic changes in training or tactics.”

  “Sir, ‘to our vengeance’ isn’t a new tactic,” Pentri stated. “Nor is ‘killing Latians’ a change in training.”

  “You are correct, of course. Both phrases are old mutiny terms,” Potilius allowed. “On your life, do not repeat this to anyone.”

  “Yes, sir. With your permission, I’d like to turn in,” Pentri requested.

  “Go,” Herius Potilius instructed.

  While the Lieutenant marched to his quarters, the Captain stood in the street. His mind spun up ideas and discarded each one as impossible. His word and that of a junior officer against two Majors officially spelled the end of their careers. And unofficially, it meant knifes in the back for him and Pentri.

  Captain Potilius headed across the garrison’s parade ground. Fortunately, there was someone at the garrison who might be able to offer advice.

  ***

  Potilius found the door to the storage space closed. But no guard stood sentry and the locking beam was tossed to the ground rather than being placed against the building. Not really surprised, based on the state of things, Captain Potilius looked in on an empty room.

  “Where is the prisoner?” Potilius inquired when he located the Corporal of the Guard.

  “He was taken yesterday morning by four Legionaries,” the Guard NCO responded. “Is there a problem, sir.”

  “No problem,” Potilius answered. “I couldn’t sleep and was curious.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Corporal offered. “Happy New Year’s Eve, Captain.”

  ***

  The eight men accompanying the carriage had different duties. Even in the moments before sunrise, it was possible to separate the porters in their tunics from the armored infantrymen. When the carriage stopped, the guards moved to the four corners around the vehicle and the porters gathered in a cluster. Very few people noticed the hobnailed boots worn by the men dressed in tunics.

  “You should be at the villa and in your bed,” Belen advised the Senator.

  “I missed yesterday’s session,” Spurius Maximus rasped. He paused to gather his energy before adding. “I miss two days and Megellus will be auctioning off my seat.”

  “Absolutely, Senator,” Belen agreed. He climbed out of the coach and waved the porters over. “Prepare the stretcher. The Senator is ready.”

  Slowly, Maximus eased out of the carriage and climbed onto the litter. Then the armored infantrymen gathered with two positioned ahead and two behind the Senator’s stretcher. Picking up the litter, the bearers carried the barely awake Spurius Maximus into the senate building.

  “Belen. Maximus appears ill,” a secretary to another Senator mentioned.

  “A stomach issue,” Belen lied. “Unfortunately, most of Maximus’ vigor has run out of his cūlus over the last few days. He’ll be fine in a day or so.”

  “What a horrible thing to happen so close to the Ides,” the senatorial aid sympathized. Then he leaned forward and spoke directly into Belen’s ear. “Megellus has lined up his factions. The word is he plans to cut your man off from his supporters then destroy his power base and embarrass Maximus. I have to go.”

  The aid rushed away, leaving Belen’s stomach in knots. Given good health, Spurius Maximus would be pulling Senators aside and trading favors. But the weak man in the stretcher had only a handful of trusted Senators on his side. And none had the strength of personality to fill the void.

  The stretcher-bearers placed the litter in the aisle beside the Senator’s chair.

  “Can I help you to your seat, sir?” Civi asked.

  Under the tunic, the former Optio had a pugio and a sica. Although his knee hurt, the NCO assigned himself to the porters, so he remained close to the Senator.

  “In a moment,” Maximus croaked out. “I just need to rest for a…”

  The Senator closed his eyes and went to sleep. Civi glanced around searching for Belen. From the top of the aisle, the secretary signaled no action. They allowed Spurius Maximus to nap during the opening proposals and arguments of the New Year’s Eve session.

  ***

  Spurius Maximus slouched in his seat with his head nodding. The wounded man attempted to follow the proceedings, but his unfocused eyes told the story.

  Outgoing Consul Gaius Duilius presided over the New Year’s Eve session. Tomorrow on the Ides, he would stand aside and wait to be replaced before taking his seat and resuming his duties as a Senator.

  Late in the morning, Duilius called for an end of discussions.

  “You have before you a proposal to expand the sewer system to the neighborhoods bordering the stockyards,” the Consul summed up the bill. “For those arguing the aromas are equal, signify no.”

  A secretary of the Senate recorded a few negative votes.

  “All in favor of extending the sewer system?” Gaius Duilius asked. Seeing the overwhelming yes vote, he declared. “The motion to extend the structure honoring the God Sterculius passes.”

  The Senators who created the bill did not do it for the God of Manure. He had no Priests or faithful wealthy followers. Yet, the God of Poo was prayed to daily by both man and beast. Even without the religious aspect, the sponsors readily accepted invocations along with congratulations from their fellow Senators for the public works.

  When the noise settled, the Consul called the chamber to order.

  “Today, being the eve of the Ides of March
, I propose we end the session early,” Duilius announced. “If there are no arguments against the motion.”

  He scanned the tiered rows of seats, not expecting any arguments about ending. The Senators wanted to get home to their families and prepare for the celebration of the Goddess Anna Perenna and the new year.

  “I have an important piece of business,” Satoris Megellus shouted from his seat. Standing, the lean Senator pointed to an exit door. “A bit of quick justice before we adjourn for New Year’s Eve.”

  “I second the motion,” a voice called from the far side of the chamber.

  It was obvious the drama was well timed and organized.

  “The chair recognizes Senator Satoris Postumius Megellus,” Duilius stated. “You have the floor Senator Megellus.”

  Off to the side of the last rows of seating, the doors swung open and two armored escorts marched through. Their features were hidden by infantry helmets and fabric covering the lower portion of their faces. The odd disguise failed to elicit much response.

  It was the man between the escorts that drew the Senators’ attention. Very few recognized him as Spurius Maximus’ protégé. But all could see the dirty Centurion tunic and the dried blood on Alerio’s swollen face.

  Chapter 26 – Rapid Trail Strategy

  “What you see at the door is a curse on our Republic,” Satoris Megellus proclaimed. “A plebeian who reached for glory and responsibility. But his very nature, lack of character, and low birth status, foiled his ambition. Can I fault the young man? No. He had a dream and grasped above his station. However, once he reached the pinnacle, he slid back into the muck. I will leave the mundane aspects of the trial to a fellow nobleman, Ignazio Rudentis Dispansus.”

  From a doorway on the other side of the chamber, Dispansus marched in letting the clicks of his hobnailed boots draw attention to his entrance. Rather than the slightly ornate Tribune armor, he wore a chest piece with elaborate scrolls in gold and silver trim. Even his gladius sported gold inlays on the hilt and scabbard. Missed by most Senators was the absence of combat medals and campaign insignias on the Senior Tribune’s chest.