In the shadows of the moonlit bush, Aratus glanced from his tutor to the domineering stranger. Earlier, he had been snatched from his bed by a servant and driven to several houses. Each turned him away. Finally, the carriage went to his uncle’s Villa. Soso gushed over him, fed him a meal, then told him that his father was dead. When his eyes dried, she walked him to the guest house and passed him off to Isos and the rude Latian. Everything happened so suddenly. Aratus wanted to grieve at home or in a temple, instead, he sat in the dirt under bushes waiting.
The front gate of the Villa opened and a carriage rolled out. It took a left on the main road. Where the road met the intersection, the wagon turned left, heading in the direction of the lower city.
“And there it is,” Alerio stated.
“What is?” Isos inquired.
“I’ll tell you later at the quarry.”
“But the quarry is west. You said we were going east to the beach.”
“I lied, Monos. Help the lad keep up.”
He pulled Aratus and Isos to their feet and herded them to the back of the compound. From there they moved at a fast walk towards the sculpture school. It was the opposite direction of the orchard, the beach, and the town of Kirra across the Gulf of Corinth.
***
Deep in the night, they climbed the ladders at the quarry. Halfway up, Alerio stopped on a platform and turned to face east.
“Are you looking for the sun?” questioned Isos. “You’re too early.”
“No. Another kind of light.”
“You mean some kind of guidance?”
“More in the vein of confirmation,” Alerio replied. He leaned on the railing of the platform and told the artist. “Sit Aratus down and make him rest.”
Isos and the lad leaned against the granite face with their legs crossed while the Legionary stood peering off into the night sky. It had to be the sky because everything else was black or dark grey.
“And there they are,” the Legionary announced after a long period. “I’m disappointed but not surprised.”
Isos Monos and Aratus pushed off the planks and joined him at the railing. In the distance, and much lower than their perch, tiny dots of light moved back and forth.
“What are they?” Aratus inquired.
“At night even the smallest flame can be seen for miles,” Alerio replied. “The Legion teaches that to our recruits. What you are witnessing is treachery.”
“I don’t understand, Latian.”
“Soso wanted to know my escape plan so she could warn Abantidas,” Alerio explained. “With me dead, no one would know about the temple credit. And the King could stick to the story that I murdered your father. When she had me take you, it was a double blessing for her.”
“A double blessing?” repeated Aratus
“Every one of the refugees heard her praise you. And they witnessed her helping to spirit you away from Sicyon,” Isos informed the lad. “If you die in the night, no one could blame her. In one deceitful move, Soso eliminates a threat to her brother and keeps her standing with your family.”
“And the lights?”
“Those are torches carried by soldiers searching for us on the beach,” Alerio answered. “Let’s move. We need to be in the mountains before daylight.”
“You can’t go into the mountains in the dark,” warned Isos. “People get lost and travel in circles.”
“I’ve got a stick and a string,” Alerio assured him. “We’ll be fine.”
“How does a stick and a string help us in the dark,” Aratus asked.
“When we get to the top of the quarry, I’ll show you.”
Chapter 37 – But with A Good Blade
Just before dawn, they found a herder’s shelter. All three fatigued refugees crawled and slept. As with any eight-year-old, Aratus woke first. Fascinated by the long handles and the two swords, he carried the dual rig outside.
Alerio woke to Monos angry voice.
“Do not ever touch those swords again,” the tutor chastised the lad. “The blades are sharp. You could cut off a hand.”
Still stiff and sore from yesterday’s fighting and climbing, the Legionary pushed out from under the shelter. Once clear, he turned and sat down heavily.
“What’s the problem?” he asked while wiping the sleep from his eyes.
“Aratus had both swords out and was swinging one around,” Isos reported.
The artist held one sword and the rig in his right hand and the other sword in his left hand. Both arms were extended as if the swords were snakes about to strike.
“Truly? Aratus were you swinging around one of my swords.”
“Yes, Corporal Sisera,” Aratus replied sheepishly.
“I was about your age when I started training,” Alerio said as he pushed to his feet. Reaching out he took both swords from Isos and promptly handed one to Aratus. “Defend yourself.”
Gripping the long hilt in both hands, the lad held the blade straight up in front of his face.
“Has he had no weapons training?” demanded Alerio.
“Aratus of Sicyon is a noble and, as such, is schooled in art, rhetoric, and mathematics. Weapons, if he chooses, will come when he is older.”
“It seems to me, even a young Greek gentleman ought to be able to defend himself,” suggested Alerio. Looking Isos in the eyes, he challenged. “Especially after his father died from a clumsy knife thrust. With a little training, he could have survived the attack.”
“You shouldn’t be saying things like that in front of the lad. You’ve offended his sensitivities.”
The Legionary twisted his head around to see if his words had distressed Aratus. Other than a quiver of his young lips, Aratus stood straight, holding the blade steady.
“Show me,” Aratus commanded. “And explain Memento Mori.”
“Where did you see that phrase?” asked Isos.
“It’s burned into each sheath,” Aratus informed his tutor.
“It’s a prompt to every warrior. No matter how competent you are with weapons. Or how many men you defeat in combat,” explained Alerio. “Remember that you too will die.”
“Everyone dies,” Aratus suggested.
“Some sooner than later,” Alerio commented. He walked around the lad and began adjusting his stance and the position of the sword. “But with a well-forged blade and proper technique, a good man can prolong his life.”
Alerio assumed a guard stance and tapped the side of Aratus’ sword.
“Now, you swing at my blade.”
***
By midday, they were high in the mountains and on a course heading southwest of Sicyon.
“Shouldn’t we find the road to Argos?” Isos asked. “It feels like we’ve come a long way.”
“Not yet,” Alerio responded. “Sicyon cavalry will be patrolling further out looking for us.”
Aratus ran around them swinging a branch.
“I don’t think your pupil is as sick of the hike as you.”
“I am an artist, not a goat. And I’m hungry,” Isos complained.
“Don’t knock goats, they’re hardy and can survive on almost nothing. Unlike artists, it seems.”
As if Alerio was a prophet, in the early afternoon, they came across a pair of goat herders. After purchasing milk, a wedge of cheese, and a loaf of bread, the trio rested under a tree. Once they ate, Aratus picked up the dual sword rig and stared into Alerio’s eyes.
“Another practice session?” Alerio inquired.
“Memento Mori, Latian.”
“Unfortunately, little Greek, I am all too aware of that,” confessed Alerio. “Defend yourself.”
Isos stretched out and closed his eyes but couldn’t sleep. The rapid tapping of steel on steel kept his nerves on edge. Begrudgingly, he gave credit to the Legionary for being a patient teacher and to Aratus who improved with each lesson.
***
They rose early the next morning and continued the march southwest. At midday, Alerio stopped to study the s
un. When they walked off, he guided them in a southeasterly direction. The sun warmed them and the animal paths they followed wrapped up and down sweeping inclines. Relaxed and lulled into a steady pace, they didn’t sense the bandits until the yelling started.
Four, armed men appeared on a hill beside the mountain trail. They screamed while waving knives and swords and shuffling down towards the trio.
Isos froze in mid-step and Aratus hid behind his tutor’s legs. With terror in their eyes, they looked to Alerio to protect them. But the Latian didn’t pull his swords at first. Instead, he drew the hunting knife and slapped it into the artist’s hand.
“I’ll need that back when this is over,” Alerio told him. Then he drew one of his swords and pulled Aratus from behind the artist’s legs. Handing the swords to the lad, he ordered. “Assume your guard stance.”
Isos Monos extended the knife and although his hand shook, the tip pointed at the charging men. And Aratus resembled a small soldier ready to do battle with a comparatively big sword. Once his unit was armed, the Legionary freed the second sword from the sheath and produced a dagger from the small of his back. To the lad and artist’s surprise, the Latian stepped back to stand beside Aratus creating a ragged three-man line.
The bandits were eight paces away when the Legionary asked a question.
“Who dies first?” Alerio shouted. “I say the fat one.”
“The short one,” Isos shrieked back.
“Aratus, pick your first kill,” Alerio urged.
“The one with marks on his face?” choked out the lad. Then the gravity of the situation hit him and Aratus called out loudly because he didn’t know what else to say. “Memento Mori.”
At three paces from the unmoving line formed by their victims, the bandits attempted to reverse course. Two slipped and fell on the mountain grass and the other two had to dig in their heels to stop.
“Come closer, fat man. I promised the lad I’d kill you first,” Alerio growled. “You wouldn’t want me to disappoint him, would you?”
“Pardon, sir,” the overweigh bandit begged. “We didn’t know you were a military unit.”
“But we’re not,” Alerio assured him. “We’re out hunting. You see the lad hasn’t made his first kill yet. He needs to be bloodied.”
“I don’t see any spears or bows,” observed the man with marks on his face. “What are you hunting?”
Alerio let a toothy grin spread across his face. He raised his sword and looked at the bandit down the length of the blade.
“Men mostly. But a woman will do,” Alerio explained. “You see the lad is a bit undersized.”
All four bandits were on their feet by then and stepping away from the crazy assassins.
“Hold on,” Alerio shouted when the bandits broke into a run. “Where is your camp? We want to come and visit you, tonight.”
The last words added a kick to the bandits’ legs. Between chattering teeth and sucking air into their lungs, all they cared about was getting safely away.
“My knife,” Alerio said while holding out his hand to Isos.
“What, what in the name of the great war God Ares just, just happened?” Isos asked between gasps of air.
“Aratus. What happened here?” inquired Alerio.
“The bandits ran from you.”
“Me?” questioned the Legionary.
“Well, us, I guess?”
“And why?”
“They thought we were superior fighters and out looking to kill men?”
“Perception, little Greek. We displayed a strong front with a ready posture,” Alerio instructed. “All their yelling and waving weapons was as much to get their nerve up as it was to intimidate us.”
“But, could you have been victorious against them?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Alerio. “Learn this if nothing else. The best fight is the one you win without shedding blood.”
“I’ll remember that, Latian,” Aratus assured him while handing back the sword.
“Do you think they’ll come back?” asked Isos.
“I don’t know that either,” commented Alerio. “Do you want us to chase them down and ask?”
“That will not be necessary,” Isos replied as he started down the mountain trail. “I’m still not sure what happened.”
Alerio and Aratus shared a smile before they ran to catch up with the artist.
***
A man mounted on a strong horse could ride from Sicyon to Argos in a day. By carriage in two and a marching unit, with mules, could make the trip in three. Four days after leaving Sicyon, the three travelers slid down a soaking wet slope, tucked their chins against the blowing rain, and shuffled southward on the muddy road.
“How far?” asked Alerio.
“There is an Argos military station around the next bend,” Aratus replied between chattering teeth. “My father and I stop there when we travel this road.”
“Do they rent horses?” inquired Isos. “Please, please tell me they rent horses.”
Chapter 38 – Rome and Duty
Alerio pounded on the door and stepped back so the eye peering out of the peephole could see his misery. Drenched and dripping, he stood in the street like a mistreated pack mule.
“Come in where it’s dry,” Tomas Kellerian urged.
The Legionary rushed through the double doors and waited in the Historia Fae building as the armorer closed and bolted both.
“What can I do for you, Corporal Sisera?”
Alerio put a package on a workbench and untied it. Inside were his dual sword rig, the armorer’s hunting knife, and the bearskin cloak.
“I need my Legion gear,” Alerio reported. “The General wants me at his Villa before sunrise.”
“You don’t sound happy with the command performance.”
“It’s not the reporting. I just figured on a few days to relax before taking an assignment.”
“Speaking of assignments. How was Sicyon?” Tomas inquired. “Is the Senator please with the artwork?”
“It wasn’t what he expected.”
“That sounds ominous, tell me.”
“This morning, I arrived in a carriage, jumped down, and ran to the front door of Villa Maximus,” Alerio related. “But Belen took so long, I was drenched when he opened the door. Unfortunately, Senator Maximus was excited. He brushed by me and ran out to inspect the wagon of artwork.”
“And was he pleased?”
“All he saw was a carriage. There was no wagon full of art,” Alerio related. “Corporal Sisera, where is my artwork, the Senator demanded?”
Tomas Kellerian got a sour look on his face and exclaimed, “Disappointing your patron is never a good idea.”
“I realize that,” Alerio agreed before continuing. “Sir, it’s a long story, I told the Senator. Then I marched to the carriage and opened the door. The Sicyon artist Isos Monos stepped down, looked at the statue of the Goddess Bia, and shouted, what is that abomination? My heart sank and I thought Maximus was going to punch Monos.”
“You didn’t bring back artwork?”
“No. Circumstances changed the mission parameters. But I did bring back an artist.”
“One who insulted the Senator’s house Goddess.”
“That he did but, when Isos explained the flaws and how they could be fixed, Maximus was like a different person. The two walked in the Villa arm in arm leaving Belen and me in the rain.”
“It’s late in the day,” offered Thomas. “Where have you been?”
“They sent me to the cook shed to eat. When I returned, Isos and Maximus were at the Senator’s desk sketching out drawings for art projects. I had to stay and give my opinion”
“I guess the order to report in the morning isn’t punishment,” suggested the armorer.
“I don’t believe it is,” Alerio replied. “But I’m pressed. I need to have Zacchaeus make me another cloak.”
“What happened to the new one you took with you?”
“I used it t
o fight off a Greek spearman. But that’s another story. Right now, I need to get to the cloth maker for a new cloak and detour to leave a donation at the Temple of Jupiter. That’s an obligation I can’t put off. Plus, I need a warm bath and a soak to get the salt water off my skin.”
“Maybe now you can get back to being a Legionary,” Tomas said as he walked towards a storage room. Moments later, the armorer returned and placed Alerio’s helmet, armor, single gladius, dual gladii rig, and shield on the countertop.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d send the shield and dual rig to the Chronicles Humanum Inn,” Alerio requested as he put on the breast plate, the armored skirt, and strapped the gladius belt around his waist. He picked up the helmet, tucked it under his arm, and added. “It’s good to be back in the Republic.”
***
Rain pounded on the granite steps and, Jupiter forgive him, the young priest scrubbing the tiles was grateful. Usually, the Temple had worshipers traipsing through the vestibule from dawn to dusk. Dirt and grit on the stonework was a sin borne on the soul of the junior priest, according to the Pontifex Maximus.
It wasn’t that Inusitatus didn’t try. Daily, on his hands and knees, he swept and buffed as visitors handed senior priests coins and strolled by without looking down. But today, the storm kept everyone away, giving the poor, low-level celebrant a chance to make the atrium shine.
The tapping of hobnailed boots on the granite porch caused Inusitatus to glance up. Lightning flashed, illuminating a Legionary standing in the doorway.
“I need a guide,” the Corporal announced.
“Everyone is at an early supper,” Inusitatus informed the Legion NCO. His robe was wet, dirty, and stained, plus it wasn’t his position to escort worshipers into the temple. Forgetting he had a damp and dirty cloth in his hand, Inusitatus raised his arm in protest. “I’m not…”
Grabbing the young cleric’s wrist, Alerio jerked him to his feet, took the rag, and tossed it to the floor.
“I will honor Jupiter for protecting me from the Illyrian blades,” the Legionary declared. “And, I don’t think he’ll care about the condition of your robe. Now, guide me into the temple.”
A silver coin was pressed into young priest’s palm. He gawked at the rich gift and stood undecided if he had the right to accept it. Then, thunder boomed and lightning flashed as if Jupiter himself demanded the Legionary’s presence. Inusitatus bowed and for the first time, he guided a worshiper into the Temple.
Fatal Obligation Page 24
