“We’ve met, sir,” was all Alerio had to say.
“Duty calls. Hopefully, you’ll enjoy the food and the entertainment,” Cleinias offered. He took half a step and stopped. “You do appreciate theater, don’t you?”
“If the thespians are realistic.”
“So real in fact, you’ll feel the drama in your soul,” Cleinias assured Alerio before returning to the groups.
***
The reception was mercifully short according to the Legionary’s stomach. After the announcement, Alerio walked one side of a table searching for his nameplate. Not finding it there, he moved to the other side. Peering at each name, he finally found it at the last seat before the head table. He glanced over and saw he was seated nearest to Magistrate Cleinias. On the other side at the head table, a bowl and glass sat where the deceased Magistrate Timocleides would have been.
‘Maybe he wants to go out drinking after the feast,’ Alerio thought as he took his seat. ‘If Cleinias wants to relive a night of debauchery with a Legionary, I’m up for the challenge.’
When the Magistrate took his seat, Alerio leaned towards him.
“I’m honored by the position,” he whispered.
“I am happy you’re pleased but, I can’t take credit for it,” Cleinias admitted. “One of Magistrate Themistocles’ advisers distributed the names. He should be here. That’s odd. Scopos was present during the reception.”
Cleinias swiveled his head towards the shadowed area behind the braziers and columns. Then he looked for the missing adviser beyond the columns on the other side of the hall.
“I pray Adviser Scopos hasn’t taken ill,” Cleinias said with concern. “He’s worked so hard putting the funeral feast together for the late Magistrate.”
The crash of the front doors slamming open drew everyone’s attention. From the waning light of early evening, a man in a robe strolled into the hall.
“Adviser Scopos. We were about to begin without you,” Cleinias called to the man.
Scopos paused halfway to the tables and Abantidas stepped around the adviser.
“Candidates for Magistrate are not invited to the tribute feast,” Cleinias informed the outspoken citizen. “Please leave. You will have a chance to speak tomorrow in the theater.”
“I’ve had a change of heart,” Abantidas replied. He strolled along one side of a table. All the advisers and guests, half having to turn in their chairs to see, followed him with their eyes. Once at Themistocles’ seat, he rested his hands on the back of the chair and continued. “Over the last few days, I have spoken with and polled the dimwitted citizens of Sicyon. At every stop, I have been rejected. My ideas, my theories, my passionate pleas for sanity, and my character have been insulted. And so, I will not be at the theater tomorrow.”
The Magistrate came out of his seat and pointed a finger at Abantidas.
“Withdrawal from the election doesn’t give you leave to barge in on the funeral feast,” Cleinias informed him. “Leave now or there will be consequences.”
“I have not finished,” Abantidas warned. Straightening his back as if he could will himself to be taller than the Magistrate, he repeated. “I will not be at the theater tomorrow. Nor will any citizen. Because there is no need for a vote. As a matter of fact, there is no longer a need for a new Magistrate. Or any, Magistrate after tonight.”
Cleinias stepped close to Abantidas, towering over the short muscular man.
“What are you saying?” the Magistrate demanded.
“Captain, now!” Abantidas shouted.
The unmistakable squeaks and clangs of weapons came from the front doorway. Then military sandals thumped on tiles as sixteen soldiers marched into the hall. Each armored and holding a shield and spear. While their Captain lagged back, a Lochias ran ahead and directed the soldiers to either side of a table.
Spartan Commander Kypselos jumped to his feet and suggested, “This is an internal conflict between Sicyon citizens. I will take my Wards and leave.”
“You will sit down. And you will keep your mouth closed until I grant you permission to leave,” Abantidas barked.
Alerio recognized the cadence. It went beyond the instances where he heard Abantidas speak in the agora. But he couldn’t remember where he heard it before.
“Loyal soldiers of Sicyon, kill anyone who interrupts me,” Abantidas ordered. “Or moves again to disrupt your King.”
Chapter 34 – The Allegation
Out of the corner of his eye, Alerio saw the Spartan Commander retake his seat. As if nervous, the emissary from Sparta lifted a hand towards his throat and drummed his fingers on his breast bones.
Alerio could understand the man’s uneasiness. But the two teens also touched their necks, mimicking the commander, and that seemed odd. Then the three lowered their raised hands and let the cords of their scarlet cloaks thread through their fingers. The Sicyon spearmen failed to notice the subtle moves to unknot the ties and free the cloaks.
Sicyon politics, no matter how extreme, shouldn’t pose a danger for the guest of the funeral feast. But, after four years in the Legion, Alerio had learned a lot and one of the first lessons was following the lead of an experienced veteran. His fingers drifted up and he dropped his chin to hide the manipulations. When his fingers combed the cords downward, the untied twines of his red cloak remained hidden behind his hand.
“Usurper,” Cleinias challenged as he raised an arm preparing to strike.
Abantidas’ hand snapped into view, gripping a dagger. Before the Magistrate could deliver a blow, the blade punctured the robe of office, entered under Cleinias’ ribs, and buried itself in his heart.
No one in the hall, not the advisers, guests, or the spearmen moved. Even as Abantidas held up his victim and twisted the dagger to assure the murder was complete, there were no cries of protest.
“Lifting a hand against your King brings instant death,” Abantidas proclaimed. Then he released Cleinias and the body flopped to the floor. The tyrant turned and glared at the advisers and guests before asking. “Who can testify to this brutal assassination of a beloved Magistrate of Sicyon?”
Puzzled expressions appeared on the faces of the guests and advisers. They had seen Abantidas drive the dagger into the Magistrate. Then, from the other end of the tables, a voice answered.
“I witnessed the murder of Cleinias,” Scopos replied. “I will testify at the trial.”
“And who is guilty of this loathsome deed?” Abantidas demanded.
Pointing first towards the head table, the adviser shifted his arm to indicate the last seat at the left side table. “The Latian, Alerio Sisera assassinated our dear Magistrate.”
“There will be no trial,” King Abantidas announced. “The sentence is…”
The Spartan commander and his Wards raised their feet and kicked off the table. Using the momentum, they launched themselves to the floor, rolled under the spear shafts, and came up between the soldiers and their shields. Fingers raked eyes and, while the spearmen screamed in agony, the commander grabbed a spear. On both sides of the armed Spartan, his Wards struggled with the blinded, thrashing men for possession of their shields.
Two things happened behind Alerio that saved his life. The soldier to his right deserted his post, raced along the head table, rounded the far side, and joined the fight against the Spartans. The second thing that saved the Legionary, the spearman directly behind him drew back the spear in anticipation of killing the Latian when the King finished his proclamation.
In the heartbeat before the spear thrust, Alerio’s red cloak fluttered up and back. Under cover of the billowing cloth, the Legionary ducked and rolled off the chair. The spearhead poked a hole in the fabric and, as the soldier jabbed and swiped seeking flesh, he shredded the garment.
‘My mother and sisters made that cloak for me,’ flashed through Alerio’s mind. Then the disappointment winked out. His legs shot back catching the ankles of the soldier.
Toppling forward, the spearman braced his s
hield against the collision with the Latian. But Alerio rolled to his side, drew the Golden Valley dagger from the small of his back, and swung his arm across his chest. It sank into the downed soldier, severing his spine. Alerio pulled the dagger free, jumped over the body, grabbed the spear, and came up with his knees bent. Holding the dagger and spear out to fend off the next attack, he glanced around.
Some of the advisers, probably those allied with Cleinias, put up a fight. But old men were no match for shields and spears. Their ineffective resistance only delayed the soldiers for several moments. Alerio used the calm around him to survey the government hall.
“Captain of the Guard. Find the rest of Cleinias’ family, his friends, and supporters,” King Abantidas screamed. “I want them dead. All of them, especially his son. I’ll not have the brat seeking vengeance on me.”
Seeing no threat to his right, Alerio scanned in the direction of the Sicyon officer at the front of the hall. He never completed the sweep. His eyes stopped on the battling Spartans.
One of the Wards was struggling. The soldier, despite being sightless and screaming, maintained a firm grip on his shield. While one teen had full possession of a shield and used it to defend the commander’s left side, the other teen could only swing the injured man’s arm to position the shield. And the Spartan’s fight was about to take a bad turn. From the commanders right, a spearman bore down on the ward with the disputed shield.
Alerio liked having a spear. While he would rather take a moment to reach down, and add the man’s sword to his arsenal, he didn’t. Instead, the Legionary tossed the spear into the air. Catching it in his fist, Alerio pulled back his arm and threw the weapon.
The motion of a flying spear caught Commander Kypselos’ eyes. Too late to dodge it, he waited for the half a heartbeat before it struck him. When it zipped by, just missing him, the emissary snapped his head around following the flight. It ended with the shaft protruding from the attacking soldier’s torso.
Relieved from the urgent need to block spear thrusts, the Spartan ward wrestled the shield free. With the shield on his arm, he picked up the wounded man’s spear.
“Reverse arrowhead,” Commander Kypselos ordered, seeing both the teens armed.
The Spartan and one of his Wards faced the front of the hall and the second teen put his back to them. Soldiers fell under their assault or fell back as the Spartan formation fought its way towards the front doors. Then Alerio spun from watching the fighting on the other side of the hall to face two charging spearmen.
Both held spears dripping fresh blood. Behind them, the spearmen left four dead advisers on the floor. Excited from taking lives and hungry for another easy victory, the soldiers crossed the tiles. Armed only with a dagger, the Latian appeared to be the softest target in the room.
Alerio missed the spear and regretted throwing it. Without the long weapon, he was reduced to ineffectively slashing the air with the dagger while backing up.
The Legionary’s short blade pitted against their shields and spears brought the sound of chuckling from inside the soldiers’ helmets. Or was it the expected adoration and coins from the new King for killing and silencing the murderer of Magistrate Cleinias. In any case, they shuffled forward with confidence and no thought of defending themselves.
***
Tossing the dagger from his right hand to his left and back, Alerio retreated until the interior column came into his peripheral vision. One step further and he planted his feet while keeping the blade shuttling from hand to hand.
Although their target was stationary, the soldiers feared a knife throw to the face. But they had spears and range. At a distance of three-quarters of the shafts’ length, they lifted their shields, slid their front feet forward, and pulled back their spears priming for the killing thrusts. That’s when the Latian flipped the dagger to his left hand catching it with the blade facing downward. Then, he jumped to the side, hooked the column with his right arm, and swung out of view.
Alerio spun around the support as one soldier attempted to get his spear’s shaft past the pillar. Before the spearman could free his weapon, the dagger came from around the column and severed his windpipe. Falling to his knees, he dropped the spear. Alerio dodged the hurried thrust by the second spearman, snatched the shaft from the tiles, and shuffled out of range.
After missing the Latian, the soldier quick-stepped to the rear. His head rocked from side to side as he attempted to locate his target. On the third tilt, a spear tip appeared out of the back of his neck. The weight of the shaft and the velocity of the throw toppled him over and onto his back.
“Guards. Guards. Will someone come and kill the Latian?” Abantidas screamed. He scurried down the hall on the opposite side from where the Spartans were fighting and killing his soldiers.
Seeing only one man, and deciding they didn’t want to wait for the Commander and his two Wards to reach them, four soldiers answered the call of their King. They broke from the fight at the front of the hall and ran towards the Latian.
***
Alerio took a shield from one of the dead soldiers and fitted it on his right arm. With the shield in place, he leaned down and collected the spears. One shaft he held against his chest with the right arm. The other spear he raised above his left shoulder.
The first goal when attacked by a superior force was to break the enemy’s formation. A dividing tactic to segment their troops would reduce the number of combatants reaching the point of engagement. Done correctly, the undersized unit then faced a more comparable force. Following the doctrine, Alerio didn’t target the first of the four spearmen marching from the front of the hall. As a matter of fact, he needed that soldier to arrive ahead of the others.
Four fingers, the space a veteran Legionary allowed for vision between the top of the shield and the bottom of the helmet over his eyes. Only enough space during an assault for a well-aimed arrow or a lucky spear thrust. Alerio watched the four spearmen heading his way, judging their experience.
After selecting his target, Alerio launched the spear. It wobbled slightly then shot through the face opening in the helmet of the soldier second in the group. Immediately, the Legionary hoisted and threw the second spear. Then he extended his left arm and wiggled his fingers.
The spearman in the lead, unaware of the fate of the man half a step behind him, rushed forward to kill the unarmed Latian. In his haste, he failed to check on the reaction of the last two soldiers.
Raising their shields, they covered their faces, stepped around the body, and continued forward blindly. As if to confirm their caution, a second spear impacted high on one shield. It rocked back and slammed the band into the soldier’s helmet. A glance at the spearman beside him sent a silent agreement and the two slowed their pace. The lead soldier didn’t get the message.
When the spearman was four steps from his target, the Latian squatted and picked up a sword. But the soldier’s left mounted shield to the Latian’s right arm shield gave the advantage to the longer weapon. The Latian couldn’t bring his sword to guard without exposing his body. Thinking to keep him occupied until the other soldiers arrived, the spearman used short thrusts against the Latian keeping him on the defensive behind the shield.
On the fourth tap of the spear, Alerio pivoted in the direction of the shaft. As if throwing an elbow strike, he slammed the edge of his shield into the spearman’s. As expected, the soldier slid his forward leg back preparing to put distance between them. But Alerio maintained the contact with a cross step. When the Legionary uncrossed his legs, he also unbent his arm. Using the momentum of his body, Alerio hammered the faces of the shields together. To prevent from being pushed off balance, the spearman braced. In the moment he hit the hard stance, Alerio spun around the soldier’s shield. And where the spear was in the man’s right hand and out of position, Alerio’s sword was in his left.
The blade entered the spearman’s side at an angle. As Alerio completed the rotation, the steel sank deeper into the soldier’s bowels
until the tip split his loins. Quickly, the Legionary jerked the blade free and assumed a guard stance. The last two soldiers were almost on him.
***
They came at Alerio side by side, shields close, steps sure, and spears level. With no weakness to exploit, the Legionary retreated. Twice, he dodged to a side hoping to draw one of them out of formation. But they stayed disciplined and, when one moved to counter Alerio, the other remained at his side. Knowing he couldn’t stretch this out much longer, the Legionary readied his mind for the wounds and the pain. Attacking spears resulted in injuries. Because the other possibility of assaulting into enemy spears was death, he prayed for the Goddess Nenia to spare him.
Alerio inhaled, planted his feet for a solid shove off, and set his shoulders. Then Nenia, the Goddess of Death spoke. One of the soldiers fell to his knees and toppled forward. A spear shaft jutted from his back. Far down the hall, one of the Spartan Wards saluted Alerio, turned, and ran towards the front doors.
With his shield tilted back, Alerio charged under the other’s spear tip. The soldier, momentarily distracted by the death of his right-side guard, backpedaled. When their shields met, a law of physical application took control. A man running forward was faster than a man running backward. The soldier tripped and Alerio followed him to the floor. Surprised to find himself on top of the spearman and his sword too long to turn on the man, Alerio settled for clubbing the soldier with the pummel.
The Legionary pushed to his feet. Breathing hard, he glanced to the front doors. All three Spartans stood in the threshold, their arms and shoulders moving in rhythm as they fought. Deciding the backdoor was a better choice, he turned and stopped.
“Nenia Dea, I thank you,” he prayed. “Should I survive, I will find a way to honor you.”
Then the Legionary looked over his shoulder at the dead soldiers and added.
Fatal Obligation Page 22
