“Have you learned nothing about politics from watching me?” Maximus inquired. “I guide the wisdom of the Senate to where I want it to go. Except in this case, most Senators want Regulus based on his work preparing the fleet. For me, it’s risking the life of my son versus the reward of reaping honor on our household.”
“And you want me to counsel you on the choice?” Alerio asked. “What if I said Gabriella was with child? But honor will not release me from my oath to Regulus? And what if I can’t decide which is the right path?”
“And that is precisely why…” Maximus stopped talking and leaned across his desk. “Gabriella is with child? My grandson?”
“We’re hoping for a boy,” Alerio ventured. Adding his final word on the discussion, he declared. “Proconsul Marcus Regulus is a competent man and will be an excellent General for the expedition.”
“I pray you’re correct. But your view does allow me to keep my word,” Maximus advised. “Now I’m going to wake Lady Aquila. If she hears the news about Gabriella secondhand, I will be forced to join you on the campaign.”
***
Alerio stood in the visitors’ gallery. His armor shined, the leather freshly oiled, and his combed helmet buffed. Below the balcony, Senators and their assistants massed in groups deciding how their section would vote on agendas throughout the day. For a while, Alerio watched, trying to decipher the movements as if the Senate floor was a battlefield. Scouts meandered to other groups, tested them, and returned to their command post. Sometimes, a force would break away and insert themselves into another group’s meeting.
He couldn’t judge the battle because the conflict wasn’t men hacking and slashing. The war on the Senate floor consisted of whispered offers and traded promises. Alerio preferred a straightforward swordfight.
“Senior Tribune Sisera,” Colonel Ferenc called out in greeting while walking towards Alerio. “If you’re here, I guess the rumors are true.”
“What rumors, sir?” Alerio asked the Battle Commander for Caedicius Legion East. Even though the Consul died, until a replacement took command, the two Legions retained his name.
Balint, Battle Commander for Caedicius Legion West, came through the doorway and crossed the observation deck to the officers.
“What did I miss?” the Colonel inquired.
“Sisera was just about to confirm that Marcus Regulus was going to be our new General,” Ferenc answered.
“He is a good administrator,” Balint offered.
He and the other Colonel stared at Alerio. Their eyes never wandered nor did their postures shift as they studied him.
“Well?” Ferenc insisted.
“Sirs, I’ve no idea what you’re asking about,” Alerio admitted.
“Is Marcus Regulus going to be our new boss?” Balint questioned. “And which one of us are you replacing?”
Alerio took a step back. He didn’t mean to show how much the idea rocked him. In his mind, he was barely off the combat line. Despite his experiences and success in Rhodes, advancing from a Centurion to a Battle Commander seemed too big a leap.
“I can assure you both that I have no idea who will be elected Consul,” Alerio told them. “And my ignorance, sirs, extends to what Proconsul Regulus plans for me, if he is elected.”
“I guess we’ll know soon enough,” Ferenc allowed.
Below, Consul Longus gaveled the session into order.
“Do I have any motions to put before the body?” he asked as if filling the second Consul position wasn’t at the top of everyone’s mind.
“I move to nominate Marcus Atilius Regulus as Consul of the Republic,” Senator Maximus declared.
It confused Alerio when his adopted father did the nomination. Seconding the motion showed support, but initializing the process made Spurius Maximus and his faction the sponsors for Regulus.
“I second the nomination,” Senator Metellus called from the far side of the chamber.
His father was wrong about Alerio’s political knowledge. He had learned a few things by observing the Senator Maximus. For instance, Alerio knew that a nomination supported by both sides of the Senate was as good as a confirmation.
“Are there any other nominations?” Longus asked.
When no one spoke up, the Consul called for a vote. Although a few anti expansionist Senators abstained out of protest for the war, the majority cast their votes for Regulus.
“I am proud to announce the vote to elevate Senator Marcus Regulus,” Longus announced. He paused for a heartbeat, before proclaiming. “The Senate welcomes, Consul Regulus.”
“Thank you, Co-Consul,” Marcus exclaimed. He stood and indicated Alerio’s father. “First, I would like to thank Spurius Maximus for his advice and support during the process…”
Alerio stiffened. If his father had been instrumental in putting Regulus in the race, he must have also orchestrated the support from the opposition. If the plan was for Regulus all along, why did Maximus ask for his adopted son’s guidance?
“…and in the gallery are my Battle Commanders,” the new General/Consul proclaimed. “Colonel Ferenc and Colonel Balint. And standing with them, my head of logistics for all the Legions, Senior Tribune Sisera…”
Alerio tuned out the part where the new Consul declared his plan for the term because everyone knew it involved the invasion. Instead, Alerio pondered his new assignment. The head of logistics meant he was responsible for feeding twelve thousand heavy infantrymen and thirty-two hundred skirmishers, plus twelve hundred cavalrymen and their horses. There were other things four Legions needed, but food was the one indispensable item for any army. And before all of that, he needed to feed over one hundred thousand oarsmen and sailors.
In flash, the agreement his adopted father made dawned on him. To keep Alerio off the combat line, Spurius Maximus used his power in the Senate to place his son in a supporting role.
“Gentlemen, you will not be replaced,” Alerio teased the Colonels. “But please understand, I can’t play favorites when it comes to resupply. Your paperwork must be filled out in duplicate. One for my records and one to forward to the Senate.”
“Senior Tribune Sisera, I liked you better when you were sending buckets of caulking to the warships,” Balint remarked.
“As did I, Colonel Balint,” Alerio admitted.
***
Colonel Gaius Claudius of the Central Legion strutted down the main street of his camp. He looked from side to side with pride. Nowhere in the world was there a bigger assembly of Legionaries, Legion cavalrymen, and Legion skirmishers. Plus, units of bolt throwers and crews that were second only to those from the city state of Syracuse.
Although few of the Legion personnel were assigned to the Central Legion, they were all under the training command of Gaius Claudius. Using his instructors, his ranges, and practice fields, the Legions prepared them for the invasion of the Qart Hadasht Empire.
“Sir, there is a mutiny at the supply depot,” a Centurion declared while jogging up to the Battle Commander.
He saluted and braced.
“Don’t I have staff officers to handle things like that?” Gaius inquired.
“Yes, sir, usually,” the line officer replied. “Except, this one involves a Senior Tribune.”
“Which of my senior staff officers?” Gaius inquired.
“Not one of ours, Colonel,” the Centurion advised. “He’s either with the Longus or the Regulus Legions.”
“Alright,” Gaius Claudius declared as his sense of pride and harmony evaporated. “I’ll go have a talk with the Senior Tribune.”
Thinking it was a flank officer, he fast walked towards the supply area. He intended to send the man back to his Legion with Hades in his ears and Gaius’ hobnailed boot up his butt.
***
Colonel Claudius marched to the doorway of the warehouse and peered into the storage space. Two unhitched wagons rested inside the building. Scattered on the floor behind one wagon were Legionary helmets, iron javelin heads and wooden
shafts, leather goods, and arrows. Broken pieces of the original packaging material lay intermixed with the gear.
“I have four Legions to supply over a long sea voyage,” Alerio Sisera proclaimed from the bed of the second wagon. “Beyond that, I need to plan for a possible siege.”
He dipped a hand into a sack of grain, pulled out a handful, and plunged the fistful of barley into a bucket of water.
“At sea, this food is good for maybe three days before it rots,” Alerio projected. Squeezing created a stream of oozing mush that dripped from between his fingers. After tossing the wet mess aside, he wrapped an oiled skin around his hand. Again, he reached into the grain sack, filled his fist and the waterproof material with barley, and dipped that into the bucket of water. With confidence, Alerio unfolded the skin and displayed dry grain. “But, when properly packaged, the grain and other supplies remain edible and usable for months.”
“Sir, that requires time and will add to the shipping date,” a Centurion from the Central Legion explained. “There is no way, Senior Tribune, we can do that and meet the fleet’s deadline.”
Behind the line officer, Gaius’ warehousemen and supply clerks nodded their agreement. Not quite filling the large space, four Centurions and eight squads of Legionaries stood on the other side of the wagons. Obviously, they were men brought by Alerio. But they didn’t signal any disagreement with the declaration of the Central Legion officer. In fact, the men from the marching Legions remained still and noncommittal.
“Then you are no good to me,” Alerio declared while throwing the damp oiled skin and the dry kernels of grain to the ground. To emphasize his disgust, the senior staff officer kicked the sack of grain off the tailgate. In a cloud of grain dust, he leaped to the floor. “I will use my own men. Men who understand the need to do a job properly.”
Despite the verbal abuse and destruction of crates, none of the Central Legion supply men had left. But they all seemed poised on the edge of fleeing. If they left, it would be mutiny, requiring Gaius Claudius to punish them.
“Is there a problem?” Gaius inquired while strolling to the center of the warehouse.
“Sir, I was making the men aware of the special needs of the campaign,” Alerio reported. “We have to package everything with a waterproof barrier.”
“I imagine a sea voyage on a transport is different than a wagon following a Legion,” Gaius agreed. “But don’t merchants transport grain in their ships’ holds?”
“Yes, Colonel, they do,” Alerio replied. “But a bulk shipment will have some waste caused by sea water. Either from splashing over the rails in rough weather, or from seepage up from the bilge. Sir, we don’t have the luxury of spoilage. Our grain will be distributed every three days from the transports.”
“I see your point,” Gaius responded. He walked to the pile of iron javelin heads and selected one along with a wooden shaft. Holding them up, he asked. “I understand the grain, Senior Tribune Sisera. Can you explain why these need to be inside waterproof containers?”
“The iron heads will rust together, and the shafts will warp, sir,” Alerio answered. The Colonel’s calm questioning broke Alerio’s agitation, allowing an idea to form. He turned to face the Central Legion supply officer. “Centurion, what count of oiled-skins do you have in stock?”
“Senior Tribune, enough to wrap maybe half the shipment,” the supply officer responded.
“What are you thinking?” Gaius inquired.
“Better a little which is well done, than a great deal imperfectly,” Alerio told him. “It’s from the Greek philosopher Plato. We don’t have to waterproof everything. If we place straw between the items made of iron, they will rust but they won’t rust together. And we can line sections of the transports where food goods are stored.”
“So only the grain, dried produce, wooden items, and leather goods need to be isolated and protected,” Gaius surmised. With his arms extended as if pleading, he asked the supply officer. “Can we meet the deadline with the restriction of lining only certain sections of the cargo holds?”
“It’ll be tight and require working at night,” the Centurion replied. “And if we can purchase more skins, yes sir. We can have the Legion supplies delivered to Ostia by the shipping date.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Gaius informed him. “Now, Senior Tribune Sisera, let’s get out of the way and allow our professionals to do their job.”
“Yes, sir,” Alerio acknowledged.
The two staff officers marched from the warehouse and, although they couldn’t hear it, the supply men released a collective sigh of relief.
“Alerio, of everyone I know, I didn’t expect hysterics from you,” Gaius pointed out. “Hades, in Messina you were flogged half to death on the punishment post and still managed to do your duty. What prompted the outburst in the warehouse?”
“Colonel, I don’t know,” Alerio admitted. “Maybe it’s the stress of equipping four Legions for a long-distance expedition.”
“I’m not buying it. You’ve faced worse odds and fought your way to victory each time. And I might add, on several occasions, you pulled me along with you,” Gaius reminded Alerio. Seeking to change subjects, he inquired. “How is Gabriella dealing with you heading off, again, so soon?”
“Truthfully, Colonel, I don’t know,” Alerio confessed. “Once I knew the assignment, I had my valet arrange transportation for her to my parent’s villa. She’s there and I’m here.”
“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies,” Gaius Claudius quoted. “That’s Aristotle and you my friend are suffering from a fragmented heart.”
“Is that really a thing, sir?” Alerio questioned.
“I am the Battle Commander for the Central Legion,” Gaius boasted. “I have two thousand eight hundred and eighty heavy infantrymen that will swear by anything I say. And I say, Senior Tribune Sisera, that you’re leaving for Rome this afternoon. I don’t want to see you until the day before the wagons roll for Ostia.”
“But sir, I need to…” Alerio began but Gaius fixed him with a glare.
“Two thousand eight hundred and eighty heavy infantrymen,” the Colonel reminded Alerio. “You are dismissed.”
Alerio ran for his quarters. Once out of his duty tunic and dressed in a traveling cloak, he sprinted for the stables. Grinning, Alerio saddled and mounted his horse. Happily, he kneed Phobos and let the fiery stallion run.
The mental stress of the job faded when they dashed through the gates of the Legion Post. Soon all the tension fell away at the realization that the steed would have him at the Capital and in the arms of Gabriella long before the sun went down.
Chapter 8 – Gods and Grain
The long line of three hundred and thirty warships sat on the beach waiting for launch orders. Stretching two and a half miles from the naval facility, the last warship sat high and dry. Much closer to headquarters but harder to reach and to load were one hundred and eighty merchant ships. Those weren’t on the beach. Rather, the deep hulled cargo vessels floated just offshore. Ramps extending through the hulls of the warships, provided umbilical cords between land and the grain haulers and the supply ships. Farther out, eighty empty troop and livestock carriers waited at anchor. The supply haulers would row out and change positions with the troop transports before the fleet launched.
“Centurion Gratian. We need the grain spread throughout the transports,” Alerio called to the supply officer. “If we lose a ship, I don’t want it to take all our food down with it.”
“Senior Tribune, as I reported earlier, sir,” Gratian told him from the back of a wagon, “we have dispersed the grain and dried goods among the transports. The reason you can’t see sacks is they are wrapped in waterproof holders.”
While Gratian wrestled a box to the tailgate, Alerio kneed Phobos into motion. At the next wagon station, he pulled back on the reins.
“Illotus. What’s the status of your wagons?” Alerio inquired.
“Senior Tribune, good aftern
oon. They were about to head back for the last of the crates,” the Centurion assured the senior staff officer. “We will be ready for a dawn launch, sir.”
Alerio and his mount trotted farther down the beach. He would repeat the questioning at two more loading stations. Each of his supply officers had forty-five merchantmen to load and units of wagons to carry the goods from warehouses and storage pavilions. After weeks of sorting gear, the actual loading of the ships from pre-established areas had gone smoothly. But it still took nearly a week of hard work.
“Sisera, how do we stand?” Senior Tribune Triticeus inquired as he trotted up the beach.
The two senior staff officers rode side-by-side while they talked. Neither man had time to sit idly and chat.
“We’ll be loaded by dark,” Alerio replied. “Except for the livestock and the Legionaries. They will be boarded before we launch in the morning. And your unit?”
“My right flank Centuries are all settled in for the night,” the staff officer reported. “But I have to attend a meeting with my carrier Captains about loading the men in the morning.”
“And I get to attend the warship Centurions’ meeting about who will guard my transports,” Alerio added.
The two senior staff officers parted. Their workday, as well as the other officers of the four Legions, was far from over.
***
Moos, whinnies, snorts, bleats, and the pawing of hoofs on the ground made the dark beach sound as if multi farmers had brought their animals to market. But these animals weren’t for sale. The livestock on the beach were destined to become rations for the men of the Legions and the auxiliary forces.
Where the expedition was going, each beast represented life if they encountered scarcity and faced starvation. And that thought was what kept Alerio up all night. He checked the loads in the transports, including the ones resting empty. They would carry the most precious cargo of all, the Legionaries, the Marines, and their officers.
Finally, on the last ship he boarded, Senior Tribune Sisera stepped onto the steering platform and watched for dawn. In the dark of early morning, far off but drawing closer, voices chanted.
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