Brutal Diplomacy

by J. Clifton Slater

  A piece of parchment was fashioned to the shaft. He untied it. A moment after reading the message, he smiled and limped, as fast as his bad leg would allow, towards the Headquarters’ building.

  ***

  There was a pounding on the door to his office and Patroclus, already irritated, asked gruffly, “Who is at my door? Why are your disturbing me? And what in the Hades is so important?”

  The door opened and his First Sergeant leaned in with a big grin on his face.

  “Sirs, a message from Admiral Hanno,” Gerontius explained. “I thought it best to bring it to you right away.”

  Patroclus held out his arm and made a give-it-to-me motion with his fingers. After snatching the parchment from his First Sergeant, the Senior Centurion read it. With a smile, he handed the note across his deck to Tribune Claudius. While the Tribune was reading, Gerontius cleared his throat.

  “Should we prepare to launch patrol boats, sir?” he asked.

  “Get them crewed and on the beach,” Patroclus instructed. “Wait for my orders to launch.”

  “Yes, Centurion,” the First Sergeant replied as he backed out of the room.

  “There is your pardon, Tribune,” Patroclus announced pointing at the note. “And maybe a second chance. Are you ready to listen?”

  Gaius Claudius glanced up from the parchment. His face showed a mixture of agony and hopefulness. “Let’s hear what Lance Corporal Sisera is proposing.”

  The note passed to Velius after the old Tribune and Alerio were brought back into the room. Alerio received the message last. While reading it, he wondered, ‘what type of man wrote this.’

  ‘To the Commander of the Republic’s rubble hoard. I have plucked one hundred and sixty-five of your farmers from my ocean. I warn you against crossing salt water without my permission. The next time I catch your vermin swimming in my water, I’ll drown them and send their bloated bodies floating to you on the southern current. You stay on your side of the Messina Strait and I’ll stay on mine. Until such time as I deem to cross it. You are warned.

  Send nothing larger than patrol boats and take your herd off my land.

  It was signed, Admiral Hanno of the Qart Hadasht Empire

  “Can he be trusted?” inquired Senior Centurion Patroclus. “His two warships are more than a match for a fleet of our patrol boats.”

  “Unfortunately, we won’t know until we cross,” Tribune Velius noted, “And pick up our Legionaries.”

  Chapter – 19 Gifts from the Empire

  Fifteen undermanned patrol boats launched from Rhégion beach. Even the coxswain and Medics rowed to save space for the return trip. As they approached the backside of the hook of land, they could see shields and armored soldiers on the crest. Further down the bank, men sprawled on the slope.

  “Are they alive?” asked a rower.

  “I’m not sure,” Alerio replied as he stroked.

  Then someone on the bank stood and waved. Other’s followed. By the time the first patrol boat landed, the able bodied were carrying the injured Legionaries to the boats.

  Only Legionaries were on the shoreline. As Alerio learned, Admiral Hanno, not wanting to start a war with the Greeks, towed their ships into Messina harbor for repairs.

  While most of the Legionaries being rescued joked and relaxed waiting for their turn to board a patrol boat, one paced along the water’s edge. When he wasn’t directing the loading, his face sank into a scowl and he resumed pacing.

  “Who is that?” Alerio asked as his full boat drifted free from the shoreline.

  “Our First Sergeant Brictius,” a half-naked Legionary replied as he gripped an oar.

  “He doesn’t look happy,” Alerio said as he watched the rescued men take their oars.

  “He isn’t. I fear for the Tribune’s life when he gets back.”

  “All together. Stroke. Use the man in front of you as a guide,” Alerio instructed his inexperienced rowers. “Stroke. Better. Again, stroke.”

  He wished he had a boat full of trained Southern Legion oarsmen. As it was, it took a long time to cross the Strait. Fortunately, the patrol boat with Brictius was just as slow and further behind him.

  ***

  “Oars up,” Alerio instructed. “Lift them out of the water and let the boat drift to shore.”

  As soon as the bow touched Rhégion beach, Alerio leaped from the patrol boat.

  “Pull her up on the beach and stow the oars in the racks,” he ordered before sprinting up the beach.

  He didn’t slow down until he reached the Headquarters’ building. Inside, he raced by a surprised clerk and Senior Centurion Patroclus’ office. He didn’t break stride until he reached First Sergeant Gerontius’ office.

  “First Sergeant. You’re needed on the beach, immediately,” Alerio gasped between hard breaths.

  “Have the Qart Hadasht attacked our patrol boats?” guessed Gerontius jumping to his feet and strapping on his gladius.

  “No, it’s more personal,” Alerio said. “Let me tell you on the way to the beach. But you’ve got to hurry.”

  As they passed Patroclus’ office, the Senior Centurion called out, “First Sergeant. Is everything all right with the ferrying operation.”

  Gerontius stopped and they backtracked to the Senior Centurion’s office. Alerio could see Tribune Claudius sitting in a chair.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera reports a problem on the beach,” the First Sergeant responded.

  “Everything is fine, sirs,” Alerio replied. “It’s just a little issue with some Sergeants.”

  “Any of my people?” demanded the Tribune.

  “No sir,” Alerio lied. “We just need First Sergeant Gerontius to get involved.”

  “Very well, carry on,” directed the Senior Centurion.

  Outside, as they quick walked across the parade ground, Gerontius turned his head and addressed Alerio.

  “It is about the Tribune’s Sergeants?” he guessed.

  “Only one, First Sergeant,” Alerio replied. “He’s about to commit Legion suicide.”

  “Who and how is he going to do that?” demanded Gerontius.

  “First Sergeant Brictius is going to kill Tribune Claudius,” Alerio informed him.

  Then, Alerio was left strolling alone as Gerontius sprinted through the gate heading for the beach and the arriving patrol boats. By the time Alerio reached the beach, First Sergeants Gerontius and Brictius were walking away and yelling at each other. But they took the path towards the NCO barracks, not the Headquarters’ building.

  Alerio sank down beside a patrol boat. His head drooped from relief and exhaustion and he leaned his back against the boat.

  “What are you doing, Lance Corporal Sisera?” inquired Sergeant Martius.

  “Resting, Chief of Boats,” Alerio replied. “Before you row me out tonight.”

  “And, where am I rowing you?” Martius asked with a puzzled look on his face.

  Raising an arm, Alerio pointed across the Strait to the northwest. “To Messina, Sergeant Martius. You’re rowing me to Messina.”

  Act 3

  Chapter – 20 Night Ride to a Decision

  The patrol boat never touched the shoreline. Slipping over the side, the Lance Corporal held his pack and bedroll above his head as he waded through the waist deep water. Sergeant Martius used a paddle to silently ease the patrol boat back into deeper water. His oarsmen knew to wait until they were far away from the drop off point before dipping their oars. With the delivery made, they drifted into the current of the Strait and away from the hook of land that created Messina harbor.

  Alerio moved his feet slowly to avoid splashing as he came out of the water. From his pack, he removed a pair of heavy civilian sandals, workmen’s woolen pants, a long-sleeved shirt and a felt Petasos. Once dressed, he climbed the rocky embankment. At the top, he caught a view of Messina harbor. It lay flat and black on this moonless night. The light from three lanterns on the dock reflected off the calm surface. Surprisingly, he heard only one patrol and
they were farther down the bent finger of land.

  Alerio followed the spit of land dividing the Strait on one side from the harbor of Messina on the other. Once it joined the mainland, he turned towards the lanterns and the dock.

  On the beach below the slope, the two Empire warships rested high on the sand. On either side, ships belonging to the Sons of Mars occupied the rest of the soft, sandy beach. Far out at the mouth of the port, he attempted to see the merchant ships that barricaded the harbor. But, the night was dark and he couldn’t make out their shapes.

  The merchant ships at the dock were visible in the lantern light. He stepped down from the dirt path and onto the rough planking. Five steps later, he was challenged.

  “What are you doing on the dock,” an Empire soldier with a spear, a shield and armor demanded. “What are you doing this early in the morning? Where did you come from?”

  “Hold on friend. I just woke up and your drumming on me with questions?” Alerio said sounding confused. “I was sleeping by my ship. Woke up and decided to head home.”

  “The dock is closed after sundown,” the soldier reported.

  “Oh, I forgot,” pleaded Alerio. “Should I go back to my ship?”

  The soldier started to say something then just stared at Alerio. Finally, he came to a conclusion.

  “Move along. The dock is closed,” he ordered dipping his spear in the direction of the town.

  Alerio stepped around the soldier. He walked along the dock, turned at a warehouse alleyway and, on the other side, strolled into Messina.

  ***

  The warehouses, he passed between, were dark and deserted. Not as large as the storage and transfer buildings in the Capital, they certainly had the capacity to hold ship loads of pirated and even legal cargo. Messina welcomed both or at least the Sons of Mars did before the arrival of the Empire.

  Alerio avoided the main road running through town and up to the Citadel. Taking a left, he walked by three narrow streets before finally entering one. Five blocks up, he turned off the street and entered a narrow alley between two-story residential homes. In the back of one, he climbed the wall and dropped into the home’s courtyard. At a shed, he eased the door open. After unstrapping his bedroll, the Legionary fluffed out the blanket and the waterproof cover. He climbed under the cover, rested his head on the sheathes sewn into one end of the blanket and went to sleep.

  Dawn broke and light streaming into the shed woke him. Alerio stretched and sat up listening for activity from the house. When a man yawned loudly as if to alert the world of his presence, the Legionary rolled up his bedding and fastened the buckles. Opening the shed door, Alerio stepped out and onto the courtyard’s brick pavers.

  “Good morning, Crius Nereus. Are you still the Empire’s Magistrate of Messina?” Alerio asked the man sitting on the patio.

  The man jerked and pointed the knife he was using to cut his breakfast sausage in the direction of the voice. Instead of being angry at the sudden intrusion into his morning, he twisted his mouth into a cruel smile.

  “I am and always will be the Captain of Messina, Lieutenant Sisera,” Nereus replied using a title from a previous action. “No matter what the dēfutūta Qart Hadasht cūlus calls me.”

  “What would you say to replacing the Empire with the Republic as your protector,” inquired Alerio as he walked to the patio. Sitting in the chair on the other side of the table, he picked up the sausage. “Can I use your knife? I don’t seem to have anything shorter than a couple of man slayers on me.”

  Crius Nereus ran his eyes over the Legionary searching for the swords. Alerio helped him understand by patting his bedroll.

  “That’s more than my Sons have since the Empire confiscated our swords, shields and armor,” complained Nereus. “If the Republic will let us go about our trade and let us keep our tools, the Sons of Mars will welcome the Republic.”

  “Regrettably, it’ll take more than welcoming us in,” explained Alerio as he sliced off a healthy chunk of sausage. “I’ll need your help with opening the door.”

  Nereus reached across the table and took the knife from Alerio.

  “Ah, I see. The harbor is a formidable defense,” the Captain of Messina commented as he jabbed the air with the short blade. “We’ll need to cut an opening in the flesh to allow the hot poker in to burn out the green rot.”

  “That’s a bit graphic for breakfast,” Alerio replied. “But yes, I need to open the harbor so the Legionaries can come in and remove the Empire troops.”

  “And that full of merda Admiral Hanno,” added Nereus. “Every time I go to him about trouble between my citizens and his soldiers, he reminds me. His troops are the only thing keeping the Syracuse army from marching into Messina and putting all the Sons up on the wood.”

  “Any idea what Hiero the Second plans,” Alerio inquired.

  “According to Admiral Hanno, the King of Syracuse is petitioning the Empire to leave Messina. Hanno finds it hilarious,” Nereus said with a laugh. Then in a deep voice resembling the Admiral’s, he related, “The Empire does not surrender territory. We take it and rule it, forever.”

  “I’d like to make Messina an exception to that rule,” Alerio stated. “With help from the Sons of Mars.”

  “I’ll speak with my ship Captains,” Nereus assured him. “However, before I do, there is something I need you to do for me.”

  “What’s that?” Alerio asked.

  “I need you to kill two of my Captains first,” Nereus explained. “They’ve become overly close to the Qart Hadasht soldiers and Admiral Hanno. I can’t prove it, but we’ve attempted several subversive activities. Each time, the Empire has been there to stop us. I believe, those two Captains are selling out the Sons.”

  “Crius Nereus, I’m not an assassin,” protested Alerio. “I’m a simple Legionary.”

  “I understand it may sound like work for a stab them in the back killer. But it’s not. I need them to die in public with witnesses,” Nereus stated. “Think of it this way. If we plan to help the Republic and they pass on our plans to Hanno, Qart Hadasht soldiers will be waiting for your men. Make them dead or risk failing to open Messina. It’s your decision.”

  Alerio placed the sliced length of sausage on the table and leaned his head back. While gazing at the blue sky, he inquired softly, “What are their names?”

  Chapter - 21 Pirate’s Den

  Alerio kept to the shadows on the way across Messina. Roving patrols of Qart Hadasht soldiers appeared and when he saw one, he ducked over to the next street to avoid them. According to Nereus, the Empire troops occasionally took sailors off the streets for questioning. With the mission for the Sons of Mars’ leader on his mind and no crew to claim, he’d prefer to reach his destination unseen.

  The mission bothered him. It was one thing to kill during a battle or even when attacked on the streets. But murdering a man, or two in this case, by seeking them out with the only intent being murder, didn’t sit right with the Legionary. On the other hand, if removing two collaborators allowed the Legionaries to reach Messina unchallenged, he’d do it.

  ‘I guess this is my initiation into the dark arts of being a spy,’ Alerio thought as leaned on a wall. Across the street a Sons of Mars pub seemed lively.

  Candlelight from the windows reflected on the pavers of the street and voices carried from inside whenever someone opened the door. And the door opened a lot. A steady flow of customers staggered out and groups of customers happily went into the Pirate’s Pride.

  Alerio adjusted his Petasos, as any good spy would do, to hide his face. With the brim almost to the bridge of his nose, he crossed to the entrance.

  ***

  It wasn’t hard to identify the three Sons of Mar’s Captains in the establishment. Solicitous crewmen identified the Captains by occupying chairs around his table while others formed a ring around their leader. The other tables in the Pirate’s Pride had patrons sitting, talking and being mostly ignored by the individual crews.

 
“Vino, honey wine, or fresh goat’s milk?” the proprietor asked from behind a plank counter top. The rough weathered boards, obviously from an old ship, rested on barrels.

  “Goat’s milk?” inquired Alerio.

  “This is your first time here, isn’t it?” remarked the proprietor. “Goat’s milk, hot and fresh from the she goat’s teats. Good for what ails you.”

  “I’ll pass on the goat’s milk. Let me have the biggest mug of vino you have,” ordered Alerio. “It’s been a long day.”

  He took the mug and moved to the far end of the counter. Sipping, he listened to conversations from the Captains’ tables. If both targets weren’t in here, there was a courtyard in the back to check.

  Nereus had described Captain Ferox Creon and Captain Gallus Silenus. It proved to be unnecessary. A rower reared back and bursts out laughing.

  “I never did that,” pleaded the laughing sailor. “tell them Captain Silenus. Never once did I eat a living squid.”

  An older man shook his head and shrugged his shoulders in a noncommittal manner leaving the sailor without support.

  “You’ve eaten almost everything else,” teased another rower.

  Alerio, having marked Silenus, turned his attention to the other Captain’s table. Soon, he confirmed it wasn’t Ferox Creon. Moments later, at the table closest to the end of the counter, the Legionary heard someone address Captain Creon.

  With his targets identified, Alerio pondered his tactics. Both were surrounded by loyal crewmen. They sat on opposite sides of the great room divided by distance and a third crew. Silenus near the entrance and Creon closer to the courtyard doorway. Unless there was a distraction, Alerio couldn’t simply stroll over and slit Silenus’ throat. Then cross through the third ship’s crew, push into Creon’s crew, cut their Captain’s neck and walk out of the Pirate’s Pride. As he was thinking about starting a fire to create a distraction, an oarsman climbed onto a table and whistled for everyone’s attention.