“And it’s, stroke lads, stroke!” he announced when it quieted down.
“Did you say? And it’s, stroke lads, stroke!” challenged a sailor from across the room.
“Yes, I did. You untalented carp,” the rower on the table replied.
The sailor climbed onto his table and stated, “A pelican carries a better tune than you.”
Then the rower in a basso voice called out, “And it’s, stroke lads, stroke!”
Everyone in the Pirate’s Pride joined in the singing:
Rowing our ram down their throat
They don’t know the life we lead
Never perceive our daring deeds
Taking spoils wherever we please
Honoring our fathers’ oath
Messina where the harbor waits
Safe from toils, safe to sell our spoils
Our strut is wide with pirate pride
Until next we ride the tide
Row out to sea with pirate pride
And it’s, stroke lads, stroke!
Rowing our rail under their sail
They fear and quake at our desire
Never sure if our heart’s afire
Give it up afore facing our ire
Of the Sons of Mars, we hail
Messina where the harbor waits
Safe from toils, safe to sell our spoils
Our strut is wide with pirate pride
Until next we ride the tide
Row out to sea with pirate pride
And it’s, stroke lads, stroke!
Rowing our ship from their warship
Apologies to the merchant troubled
Their sails we barely ruffled
Their sides we only snuggled
We are but sailors
Not sea thieves, not brigands, or pirates
Then it’s home to Messina
Messina where the harbor waits
Safe from toils, safe to sell our spoils
Our strut is wide with pirate pride
Until next we ride the tide
Row out to sea with pirate pride
With every crew in the pub tilting their heads back trying to out sing the other crews, Alerio reached back and placed his left hand around the hilt of the Ally of the Golden Valley dagger. It was fitting that a gift from assassins would be used to perform assassinations. He held the large mug tight in his right hand and swung the vessel in time with the singing. As if simply wandering the room, he made his way towards the front door. Then, he turned his back on Captain Silenus. As innocently as possible, he backed between Silenus’ crew.
And it’s, stroke lads, stroke!
Rowing our rail under their sail
They fear and quake at our desire
Never sure if our heart’s afire
Give it up afore facing our ire
Of the Sons of Mars, we hail
Alerio’s leg touched a chair and he drifted further back. A glance over his shoulder identified the Captain’s location. The Legionary adjusted as the singing continued.
Messina where the harbor waits
Safe from toils, safe to sell our spoils
Our strut is wide with pirate pride
Until next we ride the tide
Row out to sea with pirate pride
Captain Gallus Silenus stood an arm’s length away. With his head thrown back as he sang, his neck provided an excellent target. Alerio tightened his grip on the curved dagger and dropped the mug alongside his leg. It would be a good bludgeon to clear a path once the Captain was down. He waited for the lusty opening line.
And it’s, stroke lads, stroke!
Then, Alerio pulled the dagger…
A thick pair of arms encircled his body, trapping his arms at his sides.
“Lieutenant Sisera. What are you doing in Messina?” asked a sailor as he hoisted the Legionary off his feet. Grinning happily up at his shocked and trapped captive, the sailor spun him around. “Lieutenant Sisera. Look everyone, it’s Lieutenant Sisera come to drink with us.”
“Do I know you?” Alerio choked out as his ribs contracted from the squeezing.
“You made me a Lieutenant,” the sailor gushed.
“I made you a Lieutenant?” breathed out Alerio as the sailor gave him a last hard hug before setting the Legionary back on his feet.
“Sure, when you took my armor and went to kick the merda out of those two Hoplite cūlus,” explained the sailor. “We switched armor and weapons and you called me Lieutenant. Then ordered me to mount your horse and ride to Captain Nereus. The mentula!”
The singing had stopped and everyone in the pub had their eyes on the odd reunion.
‘Something feels off,’ thought Alerio as he guided the dagger back into the sheath. Then out loud, he asked, “Why did you call Captain Nereus a mentula?”
“Take your pick,” the sailor spit out. “Him and Admiral Hanno must be dēfutūta from all the time they spend together. Or maybe it’s the men locked away under guard from questioning Hanno’s orders. All while our useless Captain makes excuses for the Qart Hadasht peacock.”
Alerio scanned the rowers within earshot. To a man, they nodded agreement at the sailor’s description. Turning to Gallus Silenus, he questioned.
“Captain, why does Crius Nereus want you dead?” Alerio inquired.
Before Silenus could reply, the front door banged open. Captain Milon Frigian jumped over the threshold and slammed the door behind him.
“Creon! Get out of here,” Frigian shouted. “There’s twenty Qart Hadasht soldiers heading this way.”
Captain Frigian noticed Silenus and Alerio.
“Lieutenant Sisera? What are you doing here?” then, Frigian shifted to Silenus and suggested. “Gallus, if I were you, I’d make a hasty retreat as well.”
“Captain Frigian. I really need to speak with you,” Alerio said. “But here is not the place. For reasons I don’t have time to explain, I also need to get out of here before the soldiers arrive.”
Frigian looked at Silenus and cocked his head to the side.
“Bring Lieutenant Sisera,” Silenus ordered the sailor who had hugged the Legionary.
“Drop him at Adiona’s Temple,” Frigian instructed. “I’ll catch up after suffering the indignity of bowing to the Empire.”
The sailor shoved Alerio past a line of rowers. They moved to the doorway leading to the courtyard. Three oarsmen stood on the shoulders of six more who had linked arms to create a stable base.
“Raise your arms Lieutenant,” the sailor said as he gripped Alerio’s elbows and lifted them to the Legionary’s ears. “Up you go.”
Alerio’s wrist were grabbed and he was lifted from the floor. When his head came level with the roof top, the center man clutched his chest and Alerio was vaulted over the man’s head. He landed hard on the clay roof tiles.
“This way,” ordered Gallus Silenus. “And watch your step.”
Alerio followed the shadows of Ferox Creon and Gallus Silenus over the roof and across to the neighboring building. It was the perfect time to kill them. Except, they weren’t the one, who needed killing.
Chapter – 22 Temple of Adiona
Ferox Creon and Gallus Silenus paused on the edge of the roof. From the street below, the scuffs of boots marching by carried to Alerio.
“Drop down. At the end of the buildings, head towards the harbor,” Silenus instructed. “Before you reach the warehouses turn left and climb the hill. Stay on the port side of the hill so the soldiers guarding the docks don’t see you. Go to the other side of the temple and wait.”
Leaving him with those directions, the Captains crawled to the edge, swung their legs around and rolled their lower bodies off the tiles. Using their fingers, they hung momentarily before dropping to the street. Then they ran into a dark alleyway and vanished.
Alerio mimicked their movements and hit the street with bent knees. At the last building, he turned right and followed the line of buildings. On his left, Messina’s defensive wall was barel
y visible in the starlight. Still he could make out where it rose and fell, following the low rolling hills on the north side of the town.
A couple of blocks ahead was the wide avenue dividing the shops at the edge of Messina from the warehouses. Sprinting away from the building, Alerio reached a tree lined path that climbed a steep hill. As instructed, he stayed to the left of the trees and, instead of using the smooth path and stairs, he scrambled over rocks and through depressions to reach the top. Between the trees, he could see the harbor but couldn’t tell where the water ended and the dark land began.
On a flat, cleared area at the top of the hill, Alerio faced a long, tall clay brick structure. Easing along the side, he worked his way to the side facing the harbor.
No wall blocked access to the interior of the building. Peering around the brick sidewall, he saw a large brazier deep inside. Far enough from the open end so rain couldn’t reach the fire burning in a shallow bronze pan. Visible in the flicker of the flames, stacks of wood and charcoal mounds occupied the back wall of the building. As a Temple, it wasn’t impressive. Edging back along the side wall, Alerio moved around to the back of the Temple and walked to the other side. In the starry night, the defensive wall appeared as a pale line passing a few paces from the toe of the hill and running to the harbor.
Alerio sat down and rested his back against the rough brick wall. So far, his mission as a spy sent to find confederates to open the harbor for the Legionaries had been a failure.
***
“Adiona is the Goddess of safe returns from voyages,” explained Milon Frigian as he walked around the Temple and sat next to the Legionary. “Adherents keep the fire burning day and night. It’s the first thing we see when we row into Messina.”
“It’s not visible from Rhégion tower,” commented Alerio. “And no offense, but it’s pretty rough and plain for a Temple.”
“Because the Temple is facing the mouth of the harbor,” Frigian informed Alerio. “If it faced east, we’d row into the hook and not the harbor. Not a pleasant ending to a trip. As for the Temple, it’s the fire that honors the Goddess, not the building.”
They sat quietly gazing at the night sky. Finally, Frigian spoke.
“Why are you in Messina, Alerio Sisera?” he asked. “I thought you were done with the Sons.”
“I’ll tell you. But first explain why Crius Nereus wants Ferox Creon and Gallus Silenus killed,” Alerio inquired. “Not just dead, but publicly murdered.”
“So that’s why you were in the Pirate’s Pride. To kill two of the Sons of Mars’ Captains,” Frigian ventured. “Creon is challenging Nereus for the leadership of the Sons and Silenus is backing him. The reason Nereus needs them murdered in public is so the killer can be caught. Of course, he’ll get a knife in the back trying to escape before he can be questioned.”
“Couldn’t Nereus have them killed in their beds?” asked Alerio. “Or in an alley?”
“If we thought Nereus or the Qart Hadasht troops had anything to do with killing a Sons’ Captain, the rest of us would row out and never come back,” Frigian explained. “No, it had to be public and the culprit captured and identified. You, Lieutenant Sisera, were a gift from the Gods to Captain Nereus.”
“A sacrificial lamb it seems,” complained Alerio. “I need the Sons help to open the harbor and let Legionaries into Messina.”
“We begged for the Republic or the Empire to come in before the Syracuse army annihilated us,” stated Frigian. “The Empire responded. Now, the Republic wants to sneak in and battle house to house in brutal street fighting to remove the Qart Hadasht. Your Republic practices an odd form of diplomacy.”
“That’s politics. I’m only a Lance Corporal with a mission,” declared Alerio. “Will the Sons of Mars help me or not?”
“It’s actually humorous. For Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera of the Republic’s Legion, we wouldn’t do merda,” Frigian informed him. “However, Lieutenant Alerio Sisera of the Messina Militia is a different story. For the weapon’s instructor who trained our infantry and the hero of our battles against Syracuse forces, the Sons will assault the Citadel. For our Lieutenant, we’ll battle Qart Hadasht infantry and die on the slopes. Which man am I speaking with?”
“I’m only one man, Captain Frigian. But I can promise you this,” Alerio said. “If you help me bring in the Republic forces, it won’t be the Messina Militia attacking the Citadel. It’ll be the heavy infantry of the Legion. And they will turn the slopes red with Empire blood.”
“Then we need a plan, Lieutenant Sisera,” Frigian exclaimed. “Because, I was only kidding about dying on the slopes.”
“Speaking of kidding, what is with the Pirate’s Den?” inquired Alerio. “Fresh goat’s milk?”
“That’s not a joke,” explained Frigian. “We are pirates and when we board a merchant ship, we don’t know what we’ll face. Between the fear, the bad water and rough seas, some men develop pain in their guts. It gets worse when they think about rowing out. For those men, the pub serves goat’s milk. It signifies, without them admitting it, that they are unfit for a voyage.”
“I’m glad I didn’t order the goat’s milk,” Alerio teased.
“You might need it after I tell you my plan,” suggested Frigian.
***
Crius Nereus relaxed on his patio. The night sky displayed thousands of stars. He missed the days when he captained a ship and took spoils from unsuspecting merchant vessels. Now it was cutthroat politics and defending his position as leader of the Sons of Mars from his own Captains and Admiral Hanno.
In the morning, when he was called upon to identify Sisera’s body, he’d express shock and confusion at why the Legionary would murder two of his captains. As a sort of homage to the young man, Nereus rested a hand on one of the swords he found in Alerio’s bedroll.
In all probability, the dead Captains’ crews would slay the Legionary. The coins he gave the Empire’s night watch Sergeant insured Sisera’s death. It was a small investment to secure Nereus’ future as Captain of Messina.
A scraping at the wall of his compound drew his attention. Then, a body appeared on top of the wall before it dropped into his courtyard.
“Good morning, Captain,” Alerio said from the dark.
“Alerio Sisera. Did you complete the first part of your mission?” Nereus inquired. Something in the young lad’s voice made him move his hand from the pommel of the sword to the hilt. “Now we can plan the second part. Are you injured?”
“Just my feelings and sense of honor,” replied Alerio. “I just came from the Temple of Adiona where I had an interesting conversation with Milon Frigian.”
“I take it Ferox Creon lives and you’ve thrown in with his rebellion,” accused Nereus. Then he asked, “So, what is next for us, Lieutenant Sisera?”
“You have my pack and bedroll,” Alerio informed him. “Of course, there is the problem of your fondness for Admiral Hanno. Does it go deep enough for you to tell him about my mission?”
“No! Never would I divulge or turn you over to the Qart Hadasht soldiers,” Nereus avowed. “Come sit and enjoy the stars with me.”
Alerio took two slow steps then a sword blade slashed from the dark. Jumping back, he drew the dagger.
“You just answered your own question,” Alerio said as he countered a second slash from the sword. The short blade parried the sword and Alerio stepped forward.
Nereus realizing he missed with the surprise attacks, leaped off the patio. Figuring he needed room to chop and stab, he moved to the center of the courtyard.
“I won’t turn you over to them,” Nereus assured him. “Because once I kill you with your own sword, I’ll feed your body to the pigs. Then, I’ll find another way to dispose of Captain Creon.”
No sensible fighter liked night combat. Unless you were in physical contact, and even that was iffy, there was too much left to luck. Alerio circled to his left, picked up a clay planter, and talked as he moved.
“The Legion will come here,
” Alerio said slowly so Nereus could follow the voice. “When they take Messina, you could still be Captain of the City.”
“How do you figure that?” demanded Nereus. “Come on Legionary, tell me about surviving. Or better yet, let me tell you about surviving.”
The clay planter smashed into the patio. Nereus turned to his left in the direction of the disturbance. Alerio rushed in but the Sons’ Captain was an experienced street fighter.
Nereus, his body towards the breaking planter, twisted back to swing the sword. The long blade swiped to the right cutting the air at belly height. But Alerio was already under the arc and locking his arms around Nereus’ legs. Alerio drove with his legs, lifted the pirate leader, and slammed him to the courtyard floor.
The pommel of the sword smashed into the back of Alerio’s left shoulder. Even with the breath knocked out of him, Nereus fought. His knees churning and the butt end of the sword striking again and again.
Alerio had enough. He slammed his left fist into Nereus’ chin and drove the blade of his dagger between the Captain’s ribs.
“What’s next for us, Captain Nereus?” Alerio asked as he twisted the blade. “You die and I complete my mission.”
Chapter 23 – Communicating a Simple Plan
The Sons of Mars’ bireme rounded the hook and headed south down the strait. All one hundred and twenty oars splashing in rhythm.
“Sons of Mars,” shouted the signalman from the Rhégion Tower. “Warship!”
Unlike the greeting for the Empire warship, most of the Legionaries working on the beach simply waved. No one worried the ship would land and start a battle. It was strange when the bow angled for the beach and the two tiers of rowers backed down their oars. For a moment the long ship idled in the current. Then, a package was tossed towards the shoreline and the oars stroked and the ship angled back to the center of the channel.
A Legionary splashed into the Strait, snatched the package from the water and waded back to shore.
“Sergeant Martius. Your name is on the package,” the Legionary exclaimed as he marched to the Chief of Boats. “Do you have relatives in Messina?”
Brutal Diplomacy Page 9
