Fatal Obligation
Page 3
He planned to air out his belongings and get a good night’s sleep. But mostly, Alerio wanted a bath with soap and a long soak in clean water. In the morning with a fresh horse and mule, he departed for Capua.
Act 2
Chapter 4 – The Grind
A few large Villas and farming communities were visible from the road. They were testimony to the fertility of the land west of Capua. However, where the crops grew in abundance during summer, the seasonal temperatures turned the fields brown and left the trees bare of leaves. From the thousand-foot hills to the east and the mountains beyond, cold air flowed down the river valley chilling the land and its inhabitants.
At the Volturnus river, Alerio wrapped the bearskin cloak tighter and nudged the horse forcing it to cross the narrow stone and brick bridge. With relief, he rode off the Via Appia and approached the posthouse of Capua. Alerio was five days out of the Capital and road weary from constant traveling.
“There’s a festival in town tomorrow,” the housing NCO mentioned as he checked Alerio’s orders.
A little fun and frolicking would be a nice way to unwind and relax. But he had a fortune in coins in a pack and lugging it around in a crowd of revelers didn’t seem like a good idea.
“I’ll keep it in mind. Right now, all I want is a warm, dry place to sleep,” Alerio replied.
“Dry, I can do. Warm? That’s the purpose of Bacchus’ blessing.”
“Then I’ll pick up a wineskin on the way to my room.”
“The festival would be more fun.”
“I’m sure it would be,” Alerio acknowledged as he lifted his bundles and swayed down a hallway to his room.
***
The Sergeant hadn’t lied but he did have his facts wrong. Late at night, loud noises, people shouting, and items crashing, filled the posthouse. It seemed the festivities had started early. No matter how many blankets, including the fur cloak, Alerio piled over his head, the clamor reached him. Early in the morning, a sleepy Alerio crawled out of bed, dressed, and went to the quarter’s desk.
“Festival Eve party?” he asked.
“No. It was the unit from the posthouse between here and Maleventum,” the duty NCO replied. “They pulled out early to make the festival. Sorry about the disturbance as they settled in.”
“Settled in. When? They seemed to be wide awake all night.”
“It’s always like that. The post is twenty miles from here and tucked between trees on the side of a mountain. There’s not a lot of entertainment up there,” related the Corporal.
“The road is closed?”
“The Via Appia is never closed. But until spring, all military dispatches will cross the mountain by cavalry units with a supply wagon.”
“When is the next patrol?”
“It’ll be another week. We want to collect enough messages to make the trip worthwhile.”
“I’m checking out and heading for Maleventum,” commented Alerio. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“No. But you need to pack extra rations for you and your horse.”
“And the mule,” Alerio added as he shifted the heavy saddlebags and went in search of a hot meal.
***
For once, Alerio left a posthouse in full daylight. While the Via Appia provided a solid surface and the direction, he wanted to see the river and the mountains in the distance. Only a few resembled the high peaks near his father’s farm. Even so. watching the thick forest and the ground rising from the river valley made him homesick. The motion and the scenery lulled him into memories of his youth. Then the mule decided it wanted to return to Capua and snapped him out of his daydream.
The sudden jerk as the animal spun almost pulled Alerio off the horse. But he locked his knees, tightened his shoulders, and snapped the line hard. Surprised, the mule stopped crosswise on the Via Appia with his front legs over the divider. A few feet in front of the animal was the edge of the road. And beyond a narrow shoulder, the ground fell away to the rushing river.
“What do we have here, long ears?” Alerio asked the mule. “Desertion during the march?”
One ear dipped at the sound of his voice but the head remained fixed in the same direction.
“Is it the grind you fear?” inquired Alerio. “Or the load on your back or both?”
With each word, the mule turned his head a little more towards Alerio.
“You are a Legion pack animal as am I,” Alerio assured the animal. “So, if you’ll join me, we’ll chant as me march.”
After shuffling its legs, the mule was more or less facing in the direction of the march.
“If that’s all it takes,” Alerio acknowledged. “We’ll march on like good Legionaries. Forward.”
Both ears perked up and the mule faced to the front.
“Then I guess we have trouble on the grind,” Alerio announced. “Sergeant, Sergeant, the grind ain’t no fun.”
The mule stepped up until it stood just off the horse’s rear flank.
“Some men are born to war. They may look like meek farmers, scrawny merchants, or scribes with delicate hands. But you can never tell by a man’s outer skin if there is a warrior within,” observed Alerio. “I guess the same holds true for animals. Okay war mule, forward march.”
Then Alerio began to chant and the horse and mule stepped off together. Soon they were progressing up the Volturnus valley and putting easy miles between them and Capua.
I got troubles on the grind
Nails through the bottoms of my boots
Blisters on my heels and toes
Plus a leg strap hath come undone
Sergeant, Sergeant, the grind ain’t no fun
Are there not better ways to trek and bus
Sitting a supply wagon enduring the bumps and ruts
Braving the spit and bites from riding a mule
Astride a stallion enjoying a nobleman’s rule
Standing a chariot playing a barbarian King’s fool
Sergeant, Sergeant the grind ain’t no fun
Another boot’s strap hath come undone
Bless me, Optio
I’d like an interval to dine
On this never-ending grind
Now we hike this mound
And with miles yet to pound
Is it too much, Optio
To get off my tender feet
Boil some salty meat
Lay this heavy pack down
And for a stretch be unbound
I got troubles on the grind
Nails through the bottoms of my boots
Blisters on my heels and toes
Plus a leg strap hath come undone
Sergeant, Sergeant, the grind ain’t no fun
Are there not better ways to trek and bus
Sitting a supply wagon enduring the bumps and ruts
Braving the spit and bites from riding a mule
Astride a stallion enjoying a nobleman’s rule
Standing a chariot playing a barbarian King’s fool
Sergeant, Sergeant the grind ain’t no fun
Another boot’s strap hath come undone
All in all, Optio
I’d rather be off this grind
Away from the Legion Line
Put my butt on the ground
And pass a wineskin around
See here, Optio
The other way is my land
Track the direction of my hand
To my fields and my hound
And let’s be homeward bound
***
Late in the day, Alerio’s small caravan was sixteen miles away from Capua and traveling along the hard, true surface of the Via Appia. The Volturnus river flowed in the distance as the road was built closer to the mountain. Cutting through foothills to remain level and straight, the roadsides were steep grades. Knowing he couldn’t make the next posthouse before dark, the station was empty anyway, he began looking for a campsite for the night.
When the Via Appia left the cuts in the hills and str
etched along a flat forested section, Alerio watched for running water closer than the river. At the one hundred thirty-seven-mile marker, he noted a cleared area beside the road and a small stream.
“What do you think, war mule?” he inquired turning to the pack animal.
As if the mule understood, it angled off the road stretching the lead line.
“I take that as a yes,” Alerio said. He nudged the horse to the clearing.
As he unloaded supplies from the mule and the horse, and set up a tent, the sky darkened and it began to snow. The fat flakes soon coated the road, the trees, the ground of the river valley, and the mountain on the far side.
Chapter 5 – Warning Ignored
Alerio slept in. Unusual for a Legionary and a farm lad. He attributed it to the long days on the road. After slipping the Ally of the Golden Valley dagger into the sheath on the small of his back, he settled the big hunting knife on his hip. One was utilitarian and fine for public display. The dagger identified his association with a sect of beekeepers and assassins. It wasn’t prudent to allow the custom forged weapon to be seen. He settled the petasos on his head, wrapped the fur cloak over his shoulders, and stepped out of the tent.
A blanket of ankle-deep snow greeted him. Not enough to delay the trip as the horse and mule could easily find traction on the hard surface of the road. But the temperature had dropped. The breeze weaseling its way into the cloak let Alerio know it would be a cold day to travel.
Legionaries learned early to care for their tools first. There wouldn’t be any ‘after’ if their gear failed during a battle. Or, in this case, if the animals faltered. Putting aside his personal comfort and hunger, Alerio rubbed down the horse and put out a ration of oats. Then, he did the same for the mule. Rarely do handlers bother to pamper pack animals, but war mule had been an attentive audience for his chanting, so the mule rated a little extra care.
Finally, the Legionary put water, oats, a slice of salted venison, and an onion in his iron pot. While he huddled close to the fire’s warmth and watched the flames consume the wood, the mule let out a whinny and shuffled its feet.
“You’ve had enough to eat,” Alerio scolded the animal. “It’s my turn.”
***
The stubborn mule continued the antics while Alerio ate his morning meal and packed up the camp.
“What you need is some road exercise to settle you down,” Alerio explained to the mule as he tightened down the load. Then he walked to the horse. With one hand on the mane, he bent his knees preparing to mount.
“We thank you for getting them ready for us,” a man called from the woods.
Under the cloak, Alerio pulled the hunting knife and held it against his thigh. Then, he turned in the direction of the voice.
“Osci?” the Legionary asked the man standing beside a tree.
“Of the Samnite,” he replied, confirming the affiliation of his mountain tribe. “I like the cloak and the hat.”
“If you had made yourself known earlier, we could have shared a meal,” offered Alerio.
“It did smell delicious but we didn’t want to disturb you before you finished.”
“Finished the meal or the packing?”
“We’ll take the animals and your warm cloak and your petasos,” the Osci hunter informed Alerio. “You can keep your boots. It’ll be a long walk to the next village.”
It dawned on the Legionary that the nervous mannerisms of the mule had been caused by the approach of the hunter. Alerio judged the distance to the man dressed in skins and holding a tribal spear.
“Yet, we could always take the boots and woolens from your dead body,” the hunter said as three other Osci hunters stepped from different sections of the forest. Each held a bow with an arrow notched. “That of course, is up to you.”
The silent approach of four men through the woods and their discipline while watching him eat and pack up the camp, spoke to their skills as hunters. With their stalking talents confirmed, Alerio didn’t want a demonstration of their marksmanship. He had no shield and his swords and the pack with the Senator’s coins were draped over the horse. Alerio shifted to fresh snow and, unseen by the hunters, dropped the hunting knife into the snow. Then he placed a foot on the weapon, pulled off the cloak, and tossed it over the horse’s back.
“As you can see, I’m unarmed,” exclaimed Alerio holding out his arms. Then visibly shaking, he begged. “Please take the animals and spare my life. I am but a poor traveler. Journeying to my mother’s hovel before the master evicts my family from his land.”
“How do you explain the Legion horse and mule?”
“I stole them,” lied Alerio. “I don’t want to die. My mother and father need me.”
All four of the tribesmen laughed at the youth’s connection to his mother. If he had said father first, he might have been more of a man. Seeing no threat, the hunters stepped into the clearing.
“And don’t forget that fine beaver felt cap,” one of them reminded Alerio.
The Legionary lifted the petasos and tossed it to the man with the spear.
“You steal from the Republic and we steal from you,” he stated while exchanging his rabbit fur cap for the petasos. “It only seems fair.”
One of the archers unstrung his bow and took the mule’s lead. The spearmen grabbed the horse’s rein while the final two targeted Alerio. The four moved across the Via Appia and into the trees on the other side. Just before they entered the forest, war mule spun and it took the hunter several tries before the animal followed him.
Alerio remained standing with his arms outstretched and shaking. It wasn’t the cold, although without the cloak his body was losing heat fast, the fact that he had been robbed, or his ignoring war mule’s edginess. The cause of his trembling came from the frustration of letting his guard down and allowing the hunters to sneak up on a Legion Raider.
Once the tribesmen vanished in the trees, Alerio reached down and pulled the hunting knife from the snow. He slammed it into the sheath and jogged back to where the road cut through the foothills. He climbed the hill and stood shivering. A short while later, the four hunters and his horse and mule appeared on the river bank.
They stripped off their clothing and laid the skins across the animals’ backs. Then naked, they waded into the frigid water. Midway across the river, war mule half spun and the hunter guiding him tripped and fell. The drenched Osci came up thrashing his arms around. He had to rush to catch the others who hadn’t waited for him in the icy flow.
On the far bank, they dressed and moved away from the river. Again, Alerio lost sight of them among trees. With his arms tucked under his armpits, Alerio stood as chills quaked through his arms, legs, back, and chest. Still, he waited on the hill peering into the distance.
Many shivers later, he caught sight of the hunters between the trees. A break in the forest revealed the Osci climbing out of the river valley onto a trail running eastward.
Alerio scrambled down the hill and once on the Via Appia, he ran on the hard surface. Lifting his legs to prevent his feet from shoveling snow and to keep warm, the Legionary ran in the direction of the empty and isolated posthouse.
Chapter 6 – The Stubborn
Four and a half miles later, Alerio slowed at the road leading off the Via Appia to the Legion posthouse. While his face and fingers stung from the cold, his woolen shirt and the waistband and cuffs of his trousers were damp from sweat and melted snow. In moments, unless he found shelter, the sweat would freeze and drain off all the warmth from the run and then some. During hunting trips in winter, his father, former Legion Sergeant Sisera, told stories about men who died quickly after exerting themselves in low temperatures. Unless they were covered or found shelter immediately, they died from exposure.
Despite the danger, Alerio paused to pull the hunting knife and the Ally dagger because there might be another issue. The door to the station was ajar. While it could have been the Osci hunters come and gone, he wasn’t sure. With a chill tracking up
his wet spine, Alerio shoved open the door and peered inside.
The hunters had been there. He knew from the furniture scattered around and the broken desk they used to build a fire. Stepping in, Alerio moved quickly to the desk, snapped off a board, kicked it into several pieces, and tossed them in the fireplace.
Although the hunters trashed the room, Alerio located a box of flints on the mantle and a small stack of kindling. In the mountains, even vandals respected the need of the next person seeking shelter from the weather.
Alerio built a fire, sat close to it, and let the warmth dry his clothing and leech the chill from his bones. As the heat washed over him, he nodded off.
***
When he woke, the Legionary tossed several more boards into the fireplace. Once the flames were high, he moved to the door and looked out. The sun hung high in the western sky. Alerio nodded his head at the location and walked back to the fire. After warming his hands, he took the hallway to the stables.
A quick survey showed him everything belonging to the Legion had been packed up and moved to Capua. The corrals were empty of feed buckets and watering troughs. In the barns, every piece of leather and the wraps for the livestock were gone. Then Alerio’s eyes rose to the rafters and a storage landing. Unless the senior NCO of the posthouse was exemplary, no Legionary would bother removing secreted and out of sight gear when it would only be brought back in the spring.
Alerio climbed the wall ladder and stepped onto the boards. They squeaked as he crept to the dark corner of the barn. Reaching out, he touched a stack of horse blankets and a few leather reins. Nothing the Legion would miss but just what he needed.
Back in front of the fire, Alerio slit the reins to make tie strips. From one blanket, he cut off the corners and tied them around his boots. He wrapped another blanket around his ribs letting it flow down to his ankles. This he tied and hung in place with strips over his shoulders. A final blanket received a slit in the center and was lowered over his head. The piece missing the corners, Alerio put on as a headscarf. The blankets stunk of horse sweat but the layers of blankets insulated his body.