With these thoughts in mind, Alerio decided to not check out of the Inn at Sicyon. He knew that keeping a fallback position worked when fighting fires and floods on the farm or, as a rallying place for a Century if a battle deteriorated into a melee. Possibly a waste of coins, the room provided a safe harbor and he would keep it.
From far down the street, a runner appeared. All Legionaries ran and Alerio appreciated the smooth movements of the man’s arms and legs. Then, the racer turned off the road, slowed, and stopped in front of the banister separating the street from the porch.
“Centurion Sisera?” the runner asked.
“Yes.”
“Greetings from Magistrate Cleinias. You are invited to supper at the Bouleuterion. Do you require directions?”
“No. I know the location of the government building. When is supper?”
“The Magistrate has a few more meetings before he breaks for sustenance.”
“Then I better get over there,” Alerio proposed.
When he stood and reached for his cloak, the runner noticed the dual swords on Alerio’s back.
“Centurion. Weapons are not allowed in the Bouleuterion,” he informed the Legionary. “Mistress Soso has a cart on the way to take your belongings to the visiting buyer’s quarters. I am to wait for the cart and guard your possessions.”
With no other option than to follow directions, Alerio went to his room. After sliding the swords into the bedroll, he collected his clothing and bundled everything together. Then he carried the bundle down to the porch. He didn’t stop at the registration desk to check out.
***
“The Magistrate is very busy,” a secretary informed Alerio as they walked down a hallway in the government building. “But he wants to assure you that this meeting is important to him.”
He opened the door to a small room and indicated for Alerio to enter. The smell of stew and fresh bread filled the air and the Legionary inhaled deeply. A chef beckoned Alerio towards a table set for two while the secretary rushed back up the hallway.
“Please be seated and begin dining,” the chef ordered. “Our magistrate will join you shortly.”
A bowl of stew with generous chunks of beef and vegetables landed in front of the Legionary. After one bite, Alerio knew it wasn’t Legion camp stew. The quality of spices and the freshness of the ingredients far exceeded those accessible to a Century on the march.
Alerio had a piece of bread in his hand when the door flew open and a tall man dressed in a ceremonial robe appeared in the frame. A secretary with a quill and a scroll slipped into the room while the robed man paused.
“Gentlemen. I have a supper meeting,” the magistrate said to men crowding the hallway. “Please arrange yourselves in order of importance. I will get to each of your issues after I eat. As a matter of fact, I suggest you go and eat while discussing the urgency of your problems.”
“But magistrate, we must…”
The door slammed in the man’s face and the magistrate turned to Alerio.
“Centurion Sisera. I am Cleinias. Partner with my brother Prophantus, and currently the sole Magistrate of Sicyon. As you can see, my days are filled to the brim,” Cleinias exclaimed. He took the seat beside Alerio and held out his hand. “Do you have the letter of introduction and the voucher of credit?”
Alerio placed both in the magistrate’s hand. Cleinias unrolled the letter and held it up while he read. A bowl of stew was shoved under his arms and Cleinias began eating without looking away from the parchment.
“Spurius Maximus was a brisk young Tribune and my brother and I representatives on a trade mission,” Cleinias related. “If memory serves me, we attempted to drink the town dry. But that was years ago. It’s good to see my friend Maximus has done well in life.”
“As have you, Magistrate,” Alerio commented.
“And now he wants Sicyon artwork for his collection,” Cleinias said while glancing at the temple document. Waving to the secretary, the magistrate instructed. “Run and find Monos. Tell him, he has a client.”
Cleinias ate the stew in gulps and Alerio held back comments to give him peace while he finished the meal.
“Monos will handle the details of your purchases,” Cleinias announced. He stood and looked around. “He should be here momentarily. If you’ll excuse me. I have a hall full of solicitors waiting to hammer me with excellent but totally unmanageable ideas.”
“Thank you for meeting with me, Magistrate,” Alerio acknowledged.
“Monos will be along shortly,” Cleinias repeated. Focusing on Alerio for a heartbeat, he added. “The council is holding a funeral feast tomorrow. The next day, the citizens will elect a new magistrate to help me manage the city. You are invited to share in Timocleides’ last official act.”
“It will be my pleasure, sir.”
“Good. Good,” Cleinias said as he rushed to the door, flung it opened, and vanished into the hallway.
“More stew, Centurion?” inquired the chef.
“Yes, please.”
Alerio was at the bottom of the second bowl of stew when a thin man with long arms erupted through the doorway.
“Centurion Alerio Sisera,” he announced while strutting across the room. “I am Isos Monos. You have the good fortune of being my client for your adventure into the world of art.”
“Humble, aren’t you?” Alerio suggested.
“When an artist has studied both at Eupompus' Sicyonic school of painting and at the Lysippus School of Sicyonian sculpture, one has no need of humility.”
Alerio shoved the empty bowl away and stood.
“All right, Isos Monos. Where do we start?”
***
Monos guided Alerio down the hallway to an intersecting corridor. Partway through the corridor, Isos opened a backdoor to reveal a carriage waiting behind the government building. They climbed in and the driver snapped the reins.
“We shall take backstreets so you can see the abundance of artwork in the city,” Isos proclaimed. “You’ll learn to appreciate the skills of the artists and view sculptures properly displayed.”
As they rode, the art guide pointed out statues at homes and in parks around the lower section. Then the driver turned onto the boulevard and urged the horses up the road to the higher level of the city. Rather than turning right towards the stately villas, he made a left.
In the distance, the face of the cliff rising from the plateau reflected the afternoon sun. Uniformed shapes, where stones had been removed by hammers, chisels, and wedges, created straight lines of shadows.
“Is that a quarry?” Alerio inquired.
“Not a quarry,” Isos corrected. “The quarry of Sicyon. Blocks of gray and white granite are carved from the mountain. Once lowered by ropes to this plain, the rough stone is transported to The Lysippus School. There, the carvers take chisel and mallet in hand and begin the work of bringing out the true beauty of the stone.”
Alerio craned his neck and watched as the mountain grew closer. When they passed between large buildings, one with open-air spaces radiating out from a central building and the other mostly enclosed, the Legionary asked about them.
“Those are the sculpting and woodcarving schools,” explained Monos. “We will tour them as well as the painting and bronze schools tomorrow. For now, we will climb the worker’s ladders and you will witness where the glorious process of creation begins.”
A series of rickety wood ladders and platforms were anchored into the granite face. Isos seemed to relish stomping on the planks in an attempt to frighten his buyer. Alerio simply smiled and kept climbing after his art guide.
***
Late in the day, the carriage dropped Alerio at the Villa Prophantus. Covered with rock dust and dried sweat, the Legionary knocked on the door and waited to avoid tracking dirt into the house.
“I can see you have toured the quarry,” observed the house manager. “Thankfully, there is a full bath waiting for you at the bungalow.”
He picked up
a lantern and started down a path running beside the villa. Alerio hurried to catch up. Around the far corner of the house, they crossed the back lawn to a large house.
“Your lodgings while in Sicyon,” the manager announced.
“Don’t you have anything smaller?” questioned Alerio. “I could use that as quarters for six Centuries.”
“Many of the buyers who come to Sicyon are men of means with enormous staffs of servants,” the man explained. “Rarely, it’s a trusted protégé on their first assignment for their patron. In all cases, they stay at the bungalow. You’ll find the bath on the far side of the display chamber.”
“Display chamber?”
“It’s a large room where, over the next several days, you will view and store selected art pieces,” the manager stated. “I’ll have food brought to you from the cook shed. And If I might make a suggestion?”
“Please. I’m a little overwhelmed.”
“Don’t be too humble, Centurion,” he proposed. “The masters at the schools are tyrants and bullies. Plus, meek doesn’t fit with your battle scars.”
Once cleaned and fed, Alerio sat looking up at the stars, enjoying the pleasant evening, and thinking.
Despite Isos Monos’ arrogance, the art guide possessed knowledge of the stone workers’ skills at cutting away big blocks and the riggers’ ability to safely lower the stones. After another sip of wine, Alerio cast away worries about the headmasters at the schools and his inadequacies. Tomorrow would arrive and he’d enjoy the day no matter what. Because buying art was undoubtedly the easiest, safest, and most comfortable assignment a Legionary could ever imagine.
Chapter 33 – Funeral Feast
The sky had yet to show even a hint of light when shouting from the display chamber reached Alerio.
“Centurion Sisera. The soft light of dawn, the artist’s brush, and wonderous hues of color await you,” Isos Monos called from the cavernous room. “Soon this space will not echo with my voice but with statues, bronze castings, paintings, and lifelike wood carvings. But to accomplish that daunting task, we must begin the day.”
“Isos. What do you do when not harassing buyers before daybreak?” Alerio asked.
Already dressed, the Legionary strolled across the tiles to the guide.
“I have the pleasure of tutoring Cleinias’ son, Aratus,” Isos replied. “A bright lad of eight who, curiously, wasn’t distressed at all when informed he would miss his lessons while I assist you.”
“I wonder why?” pondered Alerio. “What’s our first adventure?”
“Eupompus' Sicyonic school of painting,” declared Isos as they walked to the exit. “A place where globs of pigmented resin and wax become murals to please the eye.”
“Isn’t that up to the buyer?” questioned Alerio when they reached the coach. “I mean if it’s pleasing to the eye or not?”
Isos didn’t reply. He held back allowing Alerio to enter first. Then the art guide climbed into the carriage and sat beside him.
“Absolutely do not suggest that to the school’s master,” requested Isos. “I beg you, do not.”
***
The school displayed pictures on thin wooden slates, animal skins, and on stretched cloths. Alerio had seen paintings but never one that moved him. Most of the talk between the Master and Isos sounded as if an advanced tutor had dropped in on a beginner’s class. Except for one. It depicted a barbarian armed with a bloody spear in a savage pose.
“I like this one,” he announced.
Isos and the Master started to discuss how the color schemes drew the eye to segments giving the scene depth. Alerio saluted the painted warrior and moved on to other pictures while they talked. With the sun barely over the mountain, the guide suggested they walk to the adjacent school.
Alerio realized Isos’ reason for choosing the painting school first. Not only did the students paint in the early morning light, but the neighboring school also became active shortly after dawn.
When they reached the school’s main building, smoke billowed from the chimney. Alerio learned the artists working in bronze fired up their forges early to avoid the heat of the day. With the fires roaring and the melting pots boiling, the molten metal was ready for the sand forms. Alerio enjoyed the joking among the workers. It reminded him of Legionaries in a shield wall. Both were hot work and required humor.
Two men lifted a rod with a bucket of bronze suspended in the centers. Holding it over the mouth of a mold, another man hooked the lip and tipped the bucket, allowing liquid bronze to spill into the opening.
“Can they make shields and swords?” inquired the Legionary.
“I suppose,” replied Isos with a puzzled look on his face. “But why would an artist make weapons of war.”
“If you’d ever faced barbarians coming at you out of the morning fog, you would appreciate the artistry of a well-made spear tip and shield.”
“Come, Centurion, let’s get out of the heat,” Isos suggested. “I fear it’s affecting you. In the other room are trimmed and buffed bronze pieces.”
They finished the tour and climbed back into the carriage. The driver delayed in leaving as a cart crossed in front of the horses.
“What’s in the cart?”
“Wood shavings for the forges from the woodcarving school,” Isos reported. “We’ll make that our next stop.”
Compared to the stink of hot metal and the grit used to polish the bronze pieces, the aromas of various kinds of wood was a pleasant change. Plus, woodcarving drew Alerio to more pieces. Maybe it was the recognizable skill with edged tools, rather than a paint palette or the pouring of hot metal but, Alerio was more animated and excited during the tour. The school’s Master even let the Legionary carve a piece of scrap giving him instructions as he cut and shaved the wood.
“Centurion Sisera. What is that you’ve carved?” Isos Monos inquired taking the wood from Alerio’s hand.
Long notches were cut from the center of a straight piece of wood. After examining it, he handed the board back to Alerio.
“It’s part of a device that brings the stars to earth,” the Legionary replied.
“The other part must be very complicated,” Isos commented. “Come, there is a magnificent carving of a satyr in the other room.”
When they finished touring the woodcarving school, Alerio expected to go to the Lysippus School of Sicyonian sculpture. The open spaces filled with granite were visible and just across the street.
“We save that for the last day before starting the acquisition process,” Isos informed him. “Tomorrow morning is the election of the new Magistrate. The Master craftsmen will all be at the theater so we’ll plan on spending the afternoon at the school.”
“I’d like to see the workings of a democracy,” Alerio commented.
“The rhetoric is good but many candidates lack style,” Isos replied. “And the voting is loud and goes on until someone is elected. But what interest do you have in the election process?”
“I heard Abantidas speak in the agora,” Alerio answered. “He’s very passionate. I suppose he might win based on volume and cadence.”
“Abantidas is a rich man and makes a lot of speeches but his ideas are not well received,” offered Isos. “He has little chance of being voted in. Now, we must get you to the bungalow so you can to rest. You have an invitation to the government funeral feast.”
“Will you be attending?”
“Me? Oh my no. That is an honor reserved for the Magistrate’s advisers and guests of the city,” Isos stated. “I’ll be grilling young Aratus on his study of art and philosophy.”
“The feast sounds tedious. But seeing as Cleinias invited me personally, I don’t think I can avoid it.”
“It’s an honor,” Isos reminded him. “Driver. To the bungalow at Prophantus.”
They sat back as the carriage rolled down the plateau towards the villa. The day of learning and observing skilled artists create images and scenes from raw materials had been illuminating.
And tomorrow promised to be another day of the Legionary experiencing life as if he was a nobleman. Despite the luxury of the mission, truth be told, Alerio was bored. And certainly not looking forward to a night of political speeches and tributes to a dead Magistrate.
***
The table arrangement sat far into the government hall leaving open space for those invited to mingle and enjoy a beverage before the feast. Beyond the meeting area, two long tables faced each other with enough space between them for servants to serve the fourteen guests. At one end, a single table with seating for two closed the opening.
Alerio stood beside one of the interior pillars. Although tempted to slip behind it, edge along the row of interior columns, and vanish where the corridor started at the end of the hall, he resisted. Instead, the Legionary watched the Magistrates’ advisers. The ten men clustered in groups or around the other guests. In addition to the Legionary, the list of outsiders was short. Two traders, one fat and one slender, Commander Kypselos and his two Wards composed the entirety of those honored with invitations.
Cleinias made circuits of the groups. After three rounds of talking, grabbing wrists, and leaning in attentively, he broke away and walked over to Alerio’s column. Turning, the Magistrate faced the room.
“Centurion Sisera. You remind me of a young Tribune Maximus,” commented the Magistrate without looking at the Legionary. “He wasn’t given to frivolous conversations either. I trust, he has gotten over the social malady.”
“He is a Senator of the Republic, sir. I would guess, he has mastered the art.”
“I imagine he has. On another subject, Isos Monos informed me that you have almost completed the tour of the schools. How are you finding our hospitality?”
“Isos is providing me with an education and an experience to retell in my old age,” Alerio replied. “I look forward to the sculpture school tomorrow. Sir, I see several people attempting to get your attention. I’ll just remain here if that meets your approval?”
“I understand your hesitation to mix with the merchants and the advisers. Stuffy men of law and business, but I thought you and the Spartans would have some things in common. You both being military men.”
Fatal Obligation Page 21
