Fatal Obligation

by J. Clifton Slater

  “I’m on a mission for Senator Maximus, Tribune,” Alerio explained as he handed the authorization letter to the staff officer. “I just need to make a delivery to Armenius and have a few words with him.”

  The duty officer read the letter once, then his eyes locked on a phrase before he pushed out of his chair. Alerio assumed the Tribune was about to go and announce his arrival to the Assistant Governor.

  “Corporal Sisera. Your dress is inappropriate for your duty. But I’ll overlook this occurrence,” the officer instructed. “Get to the barracks and clean yourself up. In your current state, you are a disgrace to the Legion. Put on proper clothing, then report back to me when you are in suitable attire for an audience with Senior Magistrate Peregrinus. And need I point out that Senior Magistrate Peregrinus is a nobleman. You addressing him by a familiar name is both offensive and insolent. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir. But, I’m in route and simply need to see Senior Magistrate Peregrinus, briefly,” pleaded Alerio.

  Sandals scuffing on the tile flooring drew the Tribune’s attention.

  The staff officer looked around Alerio and greeted the wearer, “Good afternoon, Orator Gyratus.”

  “That man!” a voice bellowed in an accusing tone.

  “Do you know Corporal Sisera?”

  Alerio peered around to see the man in the silver-trimmed robe standing just inside the entrance. One of his arms was raised with a finger extended and pointing at him.

  “A Corporal of the Legion? Since when does a Tesserarius go about accosting gentlemen,” Gyratus blustered. “In my illustrious career in the Legion, our NCOs were respectful and knew their place. As well, our commanders knew how to keep order by applying swift discipline. I would expect nothing less from a Tribune in the Legion today.”

  “Are you saying Corporal Sisera attacked you, sir?” the Tribune asked.

  “In rhetoric, harsh words from a man brandishing a weapon are equivalent to a physical attack,” Gyratus assured the staff officer. “I felt assaulted, therefore, I was.”

  The Tribune looked at the hunting knife on Alerio’s hip before calling down a hallway.

  “Optio. Bring two men,” he shouted.

  The Tribune, Gyratus, and Alerio stood silently as the sounds of three pairs of hobnailed boots clicked rapidly on the tiles. Once a Sergeant and two Legionaries reached them, the staff officer sat and placed his hands on the desktop.

  “Sisera, did you draw a blade on the Orator?”

  “No, sir. I might have used harsh words, but I…” Alerio paused. He had admitted to threatening Gyratus and that wasn’t a good thing. “I was simply insistent on getting directions.”

  “Sergeant, take Corporal Sisera to the barracks and have him held,” ordered the Tribune. “I’ll declare the charges and punishment when I get off duty.”

  “Very good, sir,” the Optio replied. Then he turned to the Legionaries. “You heard the officer. Escort the Tesserarius to a storage room and place a guard on him.”

  “I will, of course, set aside my busy schedule to testify against the Corporal,” declared Gyratus. “And make myself available as a witness to the lashes.”

  The scars on Alerio’s back itched at the thought of another round on a punishment post. For a heartbeat, he wondered if he could fight his way out of the building, get to the docks, and escape on a ship before being hunted down. Then the memory of the population’s hostility towards Latians came to him. With no hope of help or evasion, he sighed and resigned himself to his fate.

  From down another hallway, a Brindisian in a robe with gold trim scurried in their direction. Everyone around Alerio scowled in disgust.

  “What can I do for you, Master Secretary?” inquired the Tribune.

  “Magistrate Peregrinus needs this sent to the Capital,” the Greek replied. He held up a scroll. “It’s imperative the missive go out with the next courier.”

  “Set the scroll on my desk, and I’ll see to it,” the staff officer directed. It was apparent he wouldn’t exert the energy, or the courtesy, to reach out and take the scroll from the Brindisian.

  “I must impress upon you the urgency,” the secretary said as he placed the message on the desk. Without waiting, the Brindisian walked away.

  “I know my job,” replied the Tribune. Then under his breath, the staff officer mumbled. “Everything the Governor’s little pet wants is urgent.”

  Alerio bristled at the disrespect in the staff officer’s words. Anger built in his chest until it burst forth from his mouth.

  “Master Secretary! Ask Legion Camp Commander Peregrinus if he has burned any wagons lately,” Alerio called after the Greek.

  “And whom shall I say is asking?”

  “Legion Raider, Alerio Sisera.”

  “Right away, Legionary.”

  As the secretary walked down the hallway, the Tribune got an odd look on his face.

  “Camp Commander Peregrinus?” he repeated as a question.

  “You don’t know?” Alerio demanded.

  “Know what?” Orator Gyratus inquired.

  Chapter 12 – Respect is Earned

  “During the Gurges Legion rout at Volsinii, when men were slaughtered trying to retreat to the safety of the Legion marching camp, the safe haven was saved by a young Tribune.”

  “A band of Erebus attacked from the north. With only the reserve Centuries between the walls and total destruction, the Tribune ordered the ballistae unpacked then brought to bear on the enemy. Fearing to face the Tribune and his artillery, the warriors abandoned their attack on the walls and joined the melee. But the Tribune wasn’t done.”

  “He organized the gates’ defenses, arranged for the care of the wounded who fought and limped back to camp carrying other wounded. And still, the Tribune didn’t rest. He organized the medical care and the feeding of the Legionaries, regrouped Centuries into fighting formations, and earned the respect of every officer and man in the camp.”

  “The Legion’s command was in disarray. Our Colonel died on the battlefield, as did the Senior Tribunes and most of the Centurions. General Quintus Fabius Gurges expired shortly after returning to camp. Yet, the Tribune didn’t rest until the gates were secured and every living and dying Legionary could finally rest.”

  “But Etruscan warriors and Erebus barbarians surrounded the camp. In the middle of a cold snowy night, the Tribune snuck out and braved the freezing water of the Tiber to get beyond the enemy lines. Then, as he struggled south to get help, he was captured by the Erebus. Beaten and tortured, the Tribune escaped. Ignoring his own injuries, the Tribune trekked to the Capital and rallied the Senate to send a relief Legion.”

  “That Tribune is the man you dare to call a Governor’s pet,” Alerio shouted at the top of his lungs. “You and Orator Gyratus may have trotted around behind lines of heavy infantrymen. Passing on orders with a flourish and galloping back to assure the General that you had completed your tasks. But, sirs, I can assure you, you don’t have half the courage or leadership abilities of Tribune Peregrinus.”

  Alerio paused for a breath, then with his chest pumped out, declared, “You can have me whipped for insubordination. I’ll gladly stand my punishment. But, should you ever besmirch the name or character of Tribune Pollenius Armenius Peregrinus again, I will beat you bloody with my fists.”

  The long outburst silenced the Tribune, the Orator, the Optio, and the two Legionaries. Alerio, shaking with passion, looked around daring anyone to test his resolve. Then the snapping of fingers from down the hallway caused all of them to turn in that direction. A young man of nineteen years, wrapped in a red robe with the braid of an Assistant Governor on his shoulder, stood signaling his approval.

  ***

  Senior Magistrate Peregrinus smiled as he approached the lobby.

  “Sisera, you should have been a thespian,” Peregrinus announced. “Your discourse was worthy of the stage.”

  “Senior Magistrate,” the Tribune acknowledged the young man by standing and
saluting. “I apologize for the disturbance. And the ravings of this madman.”

  “You are correct Tribune. Alerio Sisera is a madman. Surely, he is touched by the Goddess Furor,” Peregrinus said seeming to agree with the staff officer. “You can ask the members of the Seventh Squad, Forty-seventh Century, Gurges Legion. Who else would face down a charging line of Insubri horsemen with two flaming wagon spokes? Or, you could ask the Legionaries who were wounded but made it to safety behind the gates. Held open by Lance Corporal Sisera, who stood all day at the apex of the wedge defending the entrance. Or, ask me, who he pulled from the Tiber half frozen, saved from barbarian arrows and swords, and escorted to the Capital. Ask anyone, and they will tell you, he is mad beyond reason.”

  “But sir, he is out of uniform,” the Tribune reported.

  “And he threatened me,” Gyratus said seeing an opening for his complaint.

  “By the end of the day at Volsinii, Sisera’s armor and helmet were covered in barbarian blood and entrails. He stank of sweat and foul smoke from the wagons I burned with the Legion’s goat grease,” Peregrinus informed them. “If he is out of uniform now, you should have seen him and the squads standing sentry at the gates. As far as threatening, Orator Gyratus. Did you return to your Villa and change robes?”

  “Well, no Senior Magistrate,” replied the Orator looking down to be sure his robe was pristine.

  “I’ve seen Sisera pull barbarians off their ponies with one hand while gutting two more while doing it,” related Peregrinus. “If he had really threatened you, Orator. You would have gone home to clean the merda off your robe. Enough of this reminiscing, Sisera. On me.”

  “But Magistrate, the Corporal…” began the Tribune.

  Peregrinus was half turned. He shifted to face the Tribune then let his eyes fall to the desktop.

  “Is there a reason my missive to the Senate is still sitting on the corner of your desk?”

  “Sir, I was just about to handle it,” the staff officer assured him.

  “When the barbarians had me tied to a tree and were using me for target practice, do you know what my one regret was?”

  “No, sir.”

  “That I had failed in my duties,” Peregrinus explained. “Is anyone shooting arrows at you?”

  “Why no, Senior Magistrate,” admitted the Tribune.

  “I didn’t think so. Corporal Sisera. My office now.”

  “Yes, sir, Tribune Peregrinus.”

  ***

  Armenius Peregrinus passed his secretary’s desk, stepped inside his office, and waited for Alerio to squeeze through the doorway with his bundles. When the Corporal was beyond the frame, Armenius closed the door.

  “Put your gear in the corner, help yourself to the wine, and join me,” Armenius offered.

  He walked to a sitting area across from his desk and dropped onto a couch. After retrieving the letter from Maximus to the Assistant Governor and pouring a glass of wine, Alerio sat on the adjacent divan.

  “A missive for you from the Senator,” Alerio stated as he handed it to the Senior Magistrate. “Thank you for getting me out of the knot with the Tribune. It would have held me up and I need to catch a ship to Sicyon to buy art for Senator Maximus.”

  “Art is important for social standings,” Armenius remarked as he opened the letter and read it. Then he placed the parchment by his side and mumbled. “He wants me back in two years to serve in the Senate.”

  “Congratulations, sir. You’ll be good for the Republic. But I sense hesitation in your voice.”

  “It’s not the political appointment that’s bothering me,” Armenius informed the Corporal. “It’s two more years of standing in a no-mans-land between enemy shield walls.”

  “Can you break that down into infantry language, sir?”

  “The Brindisians don’t like the Latians and the Latians don’t care for the Brindisians. I can’t make it simpler than that,” Armenius explained. “When I arrived, the Governor had me watch any trial between the two. After a month, he slowly began putting me on as Co-Chairman for any dispute between Brindisians and Latians. Then, the other magistrates began making excuses to bow out. Now I’m the primary judge for any case between them.”

  “That’s a lot of responsibility, sir,” pointed out Alerio.

  “And a lot of political pressure. From both sides,” Armenius added. Then he brightened up and pointed at a framed picture on the wall. “I’ve purchased a small farm. Not that I’ll stay to work it. But it’s a start on building my future. There’s a drawing on the wall. I call the small house on the land, Villa Peregrinus East.”

  Alerio walked over to a drawing and noted it was a rendering by an artist of a survey map. He traced the lines with his fingers and read off the distances.

  “The town of Latiano is six miles south of the Via Appia. Your farm is eight miles from the center of Latiano and four more miles to the south,” Alerio described. Scribbled lines denoted farms but the artist was generous with the ink and blurred the outlines. Below the large area drawing, another map displayed the actual plot of what Alerio supposed was Armenius’ land. “It’s hard to make out but the stylized letters seem to read SE. I’d guess your farm is southeast of Latiano. It’s mostly square, that’s good for plowing and planting. But there’s a section resembling a chairback on the top righthand corner. You might want to use that for livestock pens.”

  “I’m glad you’re impressed. I’ve barely looked at the map since the purchase,” admitted Armenius. “A Latian needed to divest himself of the land quickly before returning to the Capital. I took advantage of the opportunity and bought it for half the land’s value.”

  “Very astute of you,” Alerio complimented. “As my father says, a man with extra farmland will never go hungry.”

  “A wise saying,” Armenius declared. “But enough talk about land and farming, that isn’t why we’re here.”

  “I thought I was delivering a message. And extending my greetings to a comrade in arms as I passed through,” Alerio suggested. “Is there another reason, sir?”

  “There’s a party tomorrow night and I need a bodyguard,” Armenius informed the Corporal.

  “But sir, you have Centurions and Tribunes under your command. I’d think an officer would better suit your needs.”

  “Every one of them is tied to Latian land in the east,” Armenius informed him. “And it’s a party for wealthy Brindisian shippers, landowners, and businessmen. I’m afraid anyone accompanying me will do so under protest.”

  “And you think they would let a blade slip in by hesitating?”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” admitted the Senior Magistrate. “But with you at my back, I don’t have to worry.”

  “My travel orders are flexible, Tribune Peregrinus,” Alerio commented. “Can I impose on you to help me find a ship to Sicyon once you’re safely tucked in after the party?”

  “Zenobios, my Master Secretary knows his way around the docks. I’m sure he can find you a trustworthy sea captain,” Armenius suggested. Then, he ran his eyes over Alerio’s attire. “You do have other forms of dress with you?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m on a mission to purchase art,” Alerio replied glancing at his dusty shirt and trousers. “I couldn’t very well walk around Sicyon wearing dirty travel woolens.”

  Act 4

  Chapter 13 – Party Favors

  Alerio woke when sunlight caressed his face. Rolling over, he admired the high ceiling and stretched his body against the featherbed. If not for the knock on the door, the Legionary would have stayed there all day.

  “Breakfast, Master Sisera,” Zenobios announced as he brought in a tray stacked with salted meat, bread, and fruit. “The Senior Magistrate advised me that you require a hearty meal in the morning.”

  “Correction, Master Secretary. I am not a gentleman or a nobleman. Please call me Alerio, Corporal, or Tesserarius,” explained Alerio. “Leave the honorific titles for my betters.”

  “To me and the Brindisians who care about the
future of Brindisi, you are a Sminarchos or, as you would say, a Captain,” Zenobios informed him as he rested the tray on a table. “Or rather, I guess a Centurion would be more appropriate.”

  Alerio wrapped the cotton sheet around his body and walked to the table. With a slice of ham and a piece of bread in his hands, he began to take a bite, then stopped.

  “What are you saying Zenobios?”

  “I fear rebellion and the Republic’s bloody response. The tension between Brindisian landowners and the Latians moving here is reaching the boiling point,” the secretary said. “The courts had been unfair until Senior Magistrate Peregrinus. His even-handed judgments have given us hope. But the forces who want an independent Brindisi despise him. They want war. And the new landowners from the Republic believe the law should allow them to take control of everything.”

  “And Peregrinus stands between both of their goals,” offered Alerio as he chewed.

  “Your description of him as brave and an excellent leader are correct,” Zenobios stated. “I only wish he was a little less brave and more careful.”

  “Do you believe his life is in danger?”

  “Politics and blades are a tradition for us Greeks.”

  “Not much different than us Latians,” Alerio assured him. “I need to get a few things before the party.”

  “All of your clothing has been washed and dried while you slept,” Zenobios assured him. “They are folded in a dresser in the hallway. Shall I fetch your woolens?”

  “No. I’ll need my brown tunic and red cape,” Alerio replied. Then he looked around searching for his footwear. “And apparently my boots.”

  ***

  Once he devoured the food and dressed, Alerio left the room. He strolled through Armenius Peregrinus’ spacious apartment and out the front door. Two flights down, he took the hallway to the lobby. A different staff officer sat at the reception desk.

  “Good morning, Tribune.”

  “You must be Corporal Sisera.”