“If I haven’t done enough already.”
Chapter 35 – Escape Baggage
Alerio switched the shield from his right arm to the left. With the sword held low, he jogged to the corridor at the back of the hall. In ten paces, he passed the room where he and Cleinias had dined. Fifteen paces later, he turned the corner into the dark hallway leading to the backdoor. When Isos Monos led him out of the government building, there was a carriage waiting. He didn’t expect a coach. Only a few guards, but not the ten spearmen loitering in the courtyard.
“You there. Identify yourself,” ordered the squad leader.
Flaming braziers cast enough light so Alerio could see the squad clearly. To them, he was a shadow in the doorframe.
“Anyone leaving the Bouleuterion is under arrest,” the Sicyon NCO announced. “Step out, now.”
Ten on one was a death sentence but better than a knife in the back after he was taken prisoner. Or viler, if King Abantidas ordered him lashed to death. At the thought, Alerio’s back twitched and the memory of the kisses from the punishment whip sent a convulsion up his spine.
“I am the Latian who drove the blade into Cleinias’ heart,” Alerio informed them. “Weavers of cloth, I stand here waiting. Tenders of sheep, do you fear the wolf? If fear has loosened your bowels, I give you leave to let them flow. Women of Sicyon, come in and get me.”
The soldiers closest to the door reacted to the insults. Two spears jabbed at the silhouette. Alerio blocked both and chopped one shaft before the spearman pulled it back. A single cut on a shaft rarely severed the spearhead. But it did create a weak point. Another hack in the same location and the soldier would be forced to draw his sword.
‘Only nineteen more hacks and I’ll have them reduced to swords,’ contemplated Alerio as he blocked and parried more spears.
Then, the unlikely happened. A spearhead fell to the ground, a soldier cursed and moved to the rear of the squad.
“Eighteen,” the Legionary called out with a laugh. “Come on you Greek pigs, is this the best you can do?”
He wanted them mad enough to ignore their squad leader.
“Form up,” shouted the NCO. “Columns of three. Form up.”
With the soldiers crowding around the doorway, their spear thrusts were uncoordinated, less targeted, and coming at the Legionary in waves. The tips beat on the shield sounding like heavy rain accented with the clash of Alerio’s sword strikes on shafts.
“Check under your dresses ladies,” the Legionary bellowed. “I think you left your manhood in the chamber pot this morning.”
“Form up. Form up.”
In the Legion, an order from an NCO would be followed immediately. If these were Hoplites from a disciplined phalanx, they would already be in a three-man front and picking Alerio apart. But as the old fisherman on the beach, former Hoplite Sergeant Temno described, the city guards were thugs.
Unprofessional or not, the volume of impacts on Alerio’s shield was taking a toll. Twice now, he’d been driven out of the doorway. And twice, he fought his way back to the choke point. In any prolonged fight, victory went to the larger force. Sensing defeat as his muscles cramped, Alerio uttered one last prayer.
“Nenia, come for me quick,” he shouted.
“I don’t recognize the Goddess,” a gruff voice stated from behind him.
Then savagely, he was jerked out of the doorway. Before his feet settled, the Spartan Wards brushed by. With shields interlocked the teens charged through the doorway smashing and scattering the clustered spearman.
“If you’ve anything left Sisera, I need someone watching our backs,” Commander Kypselos suggested before he leaped into the courtyard.
***
Lore and tales told around Legion campfires spoke of the prowess of the Spartans. Yet few had witnessed them in battle and fewer still from behind a Spartan attack line. Alerio moved through the doorway watching the fabled warriors prove their mettle.
Their shields danced in unison, first in one direction then in the other. Relentlessly moving forward keeping the soldiers off balance and at the mercy of the Spartan’s airstrikes. Their shafts held high, the spear struck over the Sicyon shields. Driving into faces, necks, and piercings arms and then once the wounds were delivered, the Spartans added a side slash before withdrawing the spearheads. Giving no pause for the soldiers to regroup, the Spartans again and again and again applied years of weapons training to visit violence and death on their enemies.
Alerio was so enthralled by the spectacle, he almost forgot his role in the battle. When a soldier dodged a Spartan thrust and rounded their line, the Legionary advanced.
For a heartbeat, the soldier had a clear line to the Spartan ward’s undefended back. Then a shield plowed into him, rocking the spearman onto his heels. Before he could recover, Alerio’s sword slashed upward. It entered the soldier’s stomach and a twist of the hilt scrambled his intestines. Without the blade holding him up, the spearman doubled over and crashed to the ground.
Twice more, spearmen circled the Spartan’s line. Both found a Legionary and both died from his brutal efficiency.
“Launch,” ordered the Spartan Commander.
Alerio looked between a pair of shoulders to see the last two spearmen brought down by throws from the Wards.
“Sisera, come with us,” Kypselos invited. “We’ll be over the wall, through the picket line, and drinking wine in Corinth before the sun comes up.”
“It’s tempting, Commander,” Alerio admitted. “but I have possessions in the city I need to claim.”
“As you wish,” the Spartan said accepting the decision. Then he advised. “Remember warrior, no gear is worth your life.”
The Spartan and his Wards jogged to the street, turned left, and vanished into the dark. Alerio dropped the shield, but not the sword, and followed them to the road. He turned right. While they would be at the walls of Sicyon in four blocks, the Legionary had to cross the lower city and climb a steep slope.
***
Alerio avoided the intersection of the boulevards and the open space of the agora. Shifting west a couple of blocks from the government building took him away from areas likely to be heavily searched. As he slipped from shadow to shadow between lanterns, he caught sight of the Temple of Artemis against the night sky. Tempted to go and get his patron’s gold, he realized that attacking and robbing a temple to a Goddess was wrong.
The other thought, in the back of his mind, was to turn around and head south to the wall and escape. But his custom swords, travel coins, and Tomas Kellerian’s hunting knife were stored in the bungalow at Villa Prophantus.
He had lost his red cloak, Maximus’ gold, and any chance of attaining a cargo of artwork. The Legionary continued northward, his pride refusing to let him leave another item in Sicyon. Loud voices from a side road drove the thoughts away and he ducked into an alley.
A patrol sauntered from the east. The four soldiers talked loudly and joked among themselves. Some of the tension lifted from Alerio’s shoulders. If this was the best King Abantidas could get out of his men, the Legionary shouldn’t have a problem making his escape. After, he collected his belongings.
***
The biggest obstacle to reaching the Villa loomed ahead of him. On the road up, the grade presented no problem. What prevented him from taking a stroll up the road were the torches and guards standing on the plateau at the top.
Alerio dropped the sword and sprinted from the wall of a compound to the edge of the road. While the cliff face soared upward making it too steep to scale, the rock and dirt fill under the road spilled over creating a manageable incline. Bent forward on his hands and the balls of his feet, the Legionary began walking sideways.
Rain and wind over the years had stripped away the top layer of dirt leaving stones exposed. In addition to Alerio leaning forward to stop from tumbling down the embankment, the climb required him to place each foot and hand carefully. He learned this when his foot broke free two large rocks. T
hey plummeted down the bank, bouncing and smacking other loose stones. To the Legionary, it sounded as if he’d created a miniature landslide. Dropping to his belly, Alerio waited for a shout from the guards. When they didn’t respond, he pushed up while vowing to be more vigilant.
His back ached from the bent position. And the frustration of the tedious climb made him want to pick up one of the stones he stabilized in his palm and throw it. Slowly and uncomfortably, the Legionary approached the top. He regretted leaving the sword beside the wall of the compound. But that was his impatience showing. A fight at the top would alert other guards and his plan depended on reaching the Villa undetected.
When the voices of the guards drifted to him, Alerio put down an elbow and a knee and rolled onto his back. The other occasion where he had laid on a steep incline had been when he leaned against the smooth hull of an overturned patrol boat. He was resting then. Now he shifted to reposition a rock digging into his back while examining the lip of the cliff searching for a way onto level ground.
***
The narrow ledge of rock required a mighty leap. If Alerio missed, the plunge down the steep embankment would save King Abantidas the trouble of executing him. That thought alone shoved aside the fear of falling and breaking his neck. Abantidas would not get the satisfaction, Alerio mouthed as he jumped.
Scoured clean by wind and rain, the top of the outcrop allowed for skin on solid granite. Dangling by his fingers for a moment, Alerio let his heart rate settle. Pulling up, the Legionary got one elbow on the rock then the other. From the low vantage point, he lifted his head and peered towards the road. Three guards sat around a campfire looking into the flames and talking. Not one of them patrolled or watched the plateau for movement. While a Legion Optio would have them on half rations and extra work details for a week, Alerio was delighted.
They were night blind and didn’t see the stooped Legionary run to the wall of the closest Villa. From there, he jogged to the center road, hooked a right, and headed for Villa Prophantus.
***
At the back wall of the Prophantus compound, Alerio scurried up then paused at the top. Peering across the dark lawn, he wondered if he should go to the Villa and see if anyone survived the purge. Assuming there were dead bodies of Cleinias’ family, friends, and supporters from the government building to the agora and in private homes, he figured the wife of Cleinias’ brother couldn’t have been spared. But the idea of seeing the efficient Soso and her house manager’s bodies didn’t appeal to him. Rolling off the wall, Alerio dropped to the ground and stalked to the visitor’s bungalow.
As he approached the building, Alerio noticed light coming from under the door and between the closed shutters. Not a surprise, if he was in charge of hunting a killer, he would have soldiers posted in the murderer’s residence as well.
Guarded or not, Alerio came for his baggage. He pulled the dagger and crept around to the shutter outside his bedroom. Slipping the thin blade between the slats, the Legionary unhinged that side then repeated the maneuver on the other side. He pulled the bottom and lifted the lower portion of the shutter away from the wall.
Once inside the dark room, Alerio exchanged the tunic for his woolen work trousers and shirt and the sturdy hobnailed boots. With the hunting knife on his hip and the dual swords on his back, the Legionary snatched up the bundle of extra clothing. He was one step from the window and escape when the sounds of children laughing and women scolding them carried from down the hallway. Unless King Abantidas had enlisted women in his army, there was something else going on in the bungalow other than the posting of guards to catch an assassin.
Act 8
Chapter 36 – Caustic Agendas
The display chamber was crowded with families. At the doorway, five soldiers stood with their backs to the people as if preventing the hostages from reaching the exit. Except, what unit would turn their backs to prisoners? People, old, young, and middle-aged sat with their belongings, paying no attention to the soldiers. Figuring it wasn’t a concern for a hunted man, Alerio started to pull back from the corner. Then the door opened and a blond-haired lad entered followed by a very much alive Soso. The soldiers parted giving her access to the room.
“My friends, I apologize for the rough accommodations,” Soso exclaimed while resting a hand on the lad’s shoulder. “But see who else has wandered into my care. Aratus, son of Cleinias. I count it as a sign from the Gods that this fair child has found his way to my Villa. As I took him to my breast in a fond embrace, I knew he must live. As should all of you.”
There was that recognizable cadence of delivery again. And still, the Legionary couldn’t place it.
No one acknowledged the woman’s gracious offer of sanctuary. Puzzled by their standoffish manner, Alerio stepped from around the corner. At the sight of the stranger, the five soldiers drew their swords, crossed the room, and positioned themselves in front of the people. Alerio corrected his thinking. One of the soldiers was an officer but, it didn’t prevent the Legionary from drawing his swords.
“You survived the dreadful attack on my brother-in-law at the funeral feast,” Soso declared. “Please, gentlemen put your swords away. Alerio has also been deemed a pariah by the new King.”
“Soso. I didn’t kill your husband’s brother,” Alerio informed her. “It was Abantidas.”
“I know that Alerio. As do most clear-thinking citizens,” she replied. “and certainly, anyone who knows my brother well.”
And the familiar cadence became clear. Soso, married to Prophantus, brother of the slain Cleinias was the sister of King Abantidas. As convoluted as it sounded, Alerio had one question. To what faction was Soso loyal? A powerful blood relative or a wealthy family by marriage?
“What happens now?” Alerio inquired.
He wasn’t comfortable asking the real question. Besides, how would he know if she lied?
“An excellent query, Alerio,” Soso proclaimed. “At dawn, everyone here and a few more of Cleinias’ family and supporters will leave Sicyon for Argos.”
“King Abantidas is going to let his opposition simply amble through the gates and leave?”
“Abantidas may have spilled blood in the night,” the military officer explained. “But in the light of day, he dares not for fear of an uprising by the citizens.”
It made sense except two of the fleeing refugees held special meaning for Abantidas. Alerio the accused killer of Cleinias and Cleinias’ son, who by the Kings own words, might one day seek vengeance for the murder of his father.
“Good plan and may the Goddess Fortuna smile on your endeavor,” Alerio offered as he walked to the door.
“Where are you going?” asked Soso.
“Over the wall to the east, through the orchards to the beach,” Alerio replied. “I’m a fugitive so adding the theft of a fishing boat shouldn’t weigh my soul down too much.”
“No. Where are you going?”
“To Kirra. From what I hear they aren’t friendly with Sicyon. And it’s the type of place a man can get lost in until he catches a boat homeward.”
“Take Aratus with you,” Soso said quickly. Almost too quick, as if it fit some grand scheme. Then after a long pause, she added. “My brother may let the rest go but I fear he’ll make an exception for the son of Cleinias.”
Her reasoning fit Alerio’s and he looked around to see the reaction of the people in the room. Every one of them indicated their approval. Then, far in the back and sitting low, he spotted a familiar face.
“I will take the lad. But, Isos Monos is going with us,” Alerio stated while pointing a finger at the artist. “Aratus will need a companion and caretaker on the journey.”
“Monos. Come over here,” ordered Soso.
The art guide climbed slowly to his feet and shuffled through the crowd.
“I have no travel coins,” he complained with a quiver in his voice.
“Who will donate for Aratus’ tutor?” Soso asked holding out her palm.
Coins we
re passed and someone dropped them into a purse. When it was placed in Soso’s hand, she offered it to the artist.
“Travel coins. Now collect your things and go with Aratus.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
While they waited for the artist to gather his possessions, Soso fixed her eyes on Alerio.
“Do you have the temple credit?”
“No. I gave it to Cleinias.”
“It’s part of King Abantidas’ treasury now, I’m afraid.”
“That’s what I thought,” Alerio replied. Then to the child, he instructed. “Stay close to Isos and follow my directions. Can you do that?”
Obviously frightened, Aratus lifted his chin and nodded agreement.
“In the Legion, we voice acknowledgment,” Alerio informed him. “Say it.”
“I will follow directions, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir. I’m a Corporal,” the Legionary stated. “Aratus. Isos. Move out.”
Soso and the others were shocked by the Latian’s curt manner of speaking. But the Legionary knew when in command, it’s better to have your charges more afraid of you than the unknown. And Alerio needed them to be attentive to him if they were going to get out of the city alive.
***
“I wanted to stay with the others,” Isos moaned. “I don’t…”
“Be silent,” ordered Alerio. “No talking.”
In the moonlight, both Isos and Aratus shuddered at the sharp command. But there was no more complaining as the trio slipped through the back gate. When the Legionary headed north, Isos tapped his shoulder and pointed to the east. Alerio ignored the artist and continued to the rear of the adjacent compound.
There they turned west and followed the wall around until they could see the main road and the front gate of Villa Prophantus. As confused as the two were, it intensified when the Legionary gently shoved them into a row of bushes.
“Rest while we wait,” Alerio whispered.
“Wait for what?” questioned Isos.
“I’ll know it when it happens,” Alerio replied. “Now be quiet.”
Fatal Obligation Page 23
