Unjust Sacrifice

by Slater, J. Clifton

  “Aww,” was all red scarf could get out.

  “Are they alive?” Centurion Sisera inquired.

  The laborers parted to allow Alerio access to the injured. Rather than going to them, he tossed another man against the wall.

  “He has a headache,” Alerio informed the Doctor. “But nothing seems broken.”

  “That’s encouraging,” Doctor Allocco commented. She ran her hands around the bruised cheek. “There are enough injuries and illnesses without you adding to my patient list.”

  “I didn’t start it, Doctor,” Alerio pleaded. He held out a stack of papers for Gabriella. “They took all the paid bills associated with the construction of the water mill.”

  “Why would they do that?” Gabriella asked.

  “To claim ownership,” Alerio ventured. “I believe all the records are there.”

  “How could they own something we built?” Doctor Allocco questioned.

  “If they file a lawsuit in a few weeks,” Alerio remarked. “all the court will see are the paid bills.”

  “Business is hard,” Gabriella commented.

  “I’m surprised by that remark,” Alerio offered. “You are a great businesswoman.”

  “It’s a means to an end,” she responded.

  Before Alerio could ask what end, the three thieves attempted to stand.

  “You can’t hold us,” six pockets protested. “We’re citizens.”

  “You’re correct,” Alerio agreed. “These people can’t. But the Republic Navy needs oarsmen. You three look fit.”

  “You can’t,” steel knife swore. “I’m a free man.”

  “As are all of our rowers,” Alerio informed them. Then to the laborers, he asked. “Can you find me an ox and cart and an animal handler?”

  ***

  The thieves were tossed into a cart and while the herder walked beside the draft animal, Alerio strolled along with the cart.

  “Who hired you to steal the receipts?” he inquired.

  “What makes you think anyone hired us?” six pockets shot back. “Maybe we planned it ourselves.”

  Alerio had to control himself. In the face of the obvious lie and how badly it was told, he wanted to reach into the cart and punch the man. He started to ask again but the conversation ended abruptly.

  Out at sea and coming from over the horizon, four new quinqueremes rowed for shore. The Republic warships were beginning to arrive.

  ***

  The tempo at the office of the Senior Tribune had increased by multiples. Before, two secretaries occupied a section of wall. Now four filled the same space. And the flow of Junior Tribunes in and out of the area had nearly doubled.

  Alerio marched into the chaos.

  “Centurion Sisera to see the Senior Tribune,” he announced.

  “He is rather busy,” the aide warned Alerio as if it wasn’t obvious.

  “I’ll be right here when he gets a moment,” Alerio assured the staff officer.

  This time, he took a seat in front of Egidius Lubricum’s door. If the Senior Tribune came to the doorway and looked out, he couldn’t help but see Alerio. Whether he allowed Alerio to speak was a different matter.

  Late in the afternoon, Senior Centurion Typus marched into the outer office. Noticing Alerio, he stopped and looked down.

  “What are you doing here, Sisera?” he inquired.

  “This morning, my office was invaded by a squad of Tribunes and accountants,” Alerio reported. “They took paperwork, made accusations, and left me without directions.”

  “And you are here for advice?” Typus asked. Before Alerio could comment, the Senior Centurion remarked. “The Senior Tribune thinks you have created a mob out of the Legionaries. Based on that, he is sure you are dishonest and probably stealing from the depot.”

  The blunt description struck Alerio almost as hard as a targeted fist. Despite the urge to jump up and protest, he took in a few deep calming breaths.

  “I can explain the training,” Alerio said. “But it would make more sense if I could demonstrate the tactics.”

  “You will never get the chance,” Typus informed him. “You’ll be lucky not to stand trial for incompetence and theft.”

  “You and the Senior Tribune can believe what you want about my training theory,” Alerio declared. He held up the bills for the deliveries to the water mill. “But I have never stolen from the Legion. These are paid bills for the lumber delivered to town.”

  Nutatus Typus took the papers, studied them, then marched into the Senior Tribune’s office. Long moments later, the Senior Centurion appeared in the doorway. He waved Alerio into the office.

  “I don’t like you, Centurion Sisera,” Senior Tribune Lubricum proclaimed. “I don’t like your methods. You obviously are a brawler and it shows in the training you inflicted on my Legionaries. Why General Duilius assigned you here, I don’t understand.”

  He held up the receipts and continued, “But these clear you and I do have a need. We have four new warships on the beach and more scheduled to arrive. All of them need outfitting and that puts pressure on the supply depot. Based on reports from the Greek accountants, you are an adequate supply officer.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alerio said. “Orders, sir?”

  “You will limit your duties to the depot,” Lubricum directed. “No training. No dealing with the Legionaries unless it concerns securing the Navy supplies.”

  “You are dismissed,” Senior Centurion Typus commanded.

  “Thank you, sir,” Alerio said before rushing out of the door.

  He might never know who accused him of theft but at least he was back on duty. Even if it was limited to counting ropes, nails, and boards.

  Chapter 17 – The Grind

  The small office at the supply depot had a desk with neatly stacked papers on top of it and two chairs. Alerio sat behind the desk while across from him Optio Gurganus occupied the other seat.

  “Centurion Sisera, when will you be out of officer jail?” Rutri Gurganus questioned.

  “As long as Senior Tribune Lubricum is in charge of the Navy, I am out of the instructor job,” Alerio informed the NCO. “How are the Centuries?”

  “The Senior Centurion has us marching around and doing gladius and shield drills,” the Optio replied. “I can tell you the men are depressed.”

  “Why?” Alerio asked. He stood from his desk and paced around the small office. “Training is training. At least they aren’t being ignored.”

  “They are missing the sense of being special, sir,” Rutri remarked. “There are now seven new warships on the beach. But no one is allowing your Legionaries to practice on a real boat.”

  “They are not my Legionaries,” Alerio corrected. “They belong to the Republic and General Scipio.”

  “Centurion Sisera, you can believe anything you want,” Rutri assured him. “But the Centuries expect you to return and continue the training.”

  “There is nothing I can do for them,” Alerio admitted. “Although it would be good to do something other than count lumber.”

  Outside the tent, the sounds of wagon wheels and horses’ hooves on the road carried to the office.

  “Looks like you have business,” Rutri said thinking a supply train was approaching. “I’ll leave you to it, sir.”

  “Those aren’t delivery wagons,” Alerio suggested. “Come on, let’s have a look.”

  They rushed from the office, through the stacks and shelves of supplies, and finally through the exit.

  ***

  On the street were several Centuries of cavalry and a line of wagons. None were piled high with supplies. Both the mounted Legionaries and the transports were moving at a quick pace.

  “Artillery wagons, Centurion,” Rutri Gurganus said. “There are enough bolt throwers for two Legions and then some.”

  “I guess the armory will have an abundance of ballistae,” Alero offered.

  Then, they saw a First Century. If the well-used but clean armor didn’t tell them they were
looking at a special unit, the tight formation around the Fleet Praetor demonstrated it.

  “Who is that, Centurion Sisera?” Rutri questioned.

  “That, Optio Gurganus, is Fleet Praetor Sudoris,” Alerio reported. “I guess he’s come home to take care of the Navy.”

  “Do you think he will let you out of officer jail?” Rutri asked hopefully.

  “I think the Fleet Praetor of the Republic has more things to worry about than a failed weapons’ instructor,” Alerio responded.

  Even as he said it, Alerio prayed to Angerona. It wasn’t bitter cold or an actual lack of sunlight affecting Centurion Sisera. But it felt like it and so, he asked the Goddess who helped men survive winter to free him from officer jail.

  ***

  The next day, three more warships backed onto Ostia beach. With a full squadron of ten, some people expected them to be crewed and launched to begin patrolling. For a week, the ten warships launched, practiced rowing and ship maneuvers, then returned to the beach at the end of the day.

  “Soon, they will be off to Sicilia,” a supply NCO offered. “I can’t see the Navy keeping them here when they could be helping General Scipio.”

  His sentiments were echoed around the naval base. In the headquarters building, the delay took on a conspiratorial tone among a group of noblemen.

  “Gaius Duilius is playing politics by not releasing the squadron,” confederates of Senior Tribune Lubricum whispered. “The Junior Consul is seeking to consolidate his power.”

  “It’s not right,” other Tribunes agreed. “It’s dangerous to withhold assets.”

  While gossip raced through every department and the town at Ostia, Fleet Praetor Sudoris did nothing to counter the rumors. He and Senior Tribune Lubricum held discussions behind closed doors with only a few trusted advisers in attendance.

  When five more warships arrived for final fitting, the scandal mongering hit a high-water mark. Alerio ignored the talk and concentrated on logging in supplies and logging them out for each new quinquereme. At the end of another long day, he checked with the supply men then left the depot.

  ***

  Strolling the embankment alone, Alerio gazed at the waterline. Fifteen warships rested on the beach. Scurrying around were over forty-five hundred oarsmen and sailors. To Centurion Sisera’s disappointment, there were few infantrymen in the crowds.

  He pondered. “How could Legionaries be expected to fight at sea if they didn’t drill on the ships?”

  Alerio forgot the complaint when he reached the leather shop.

  “Good afternoon,” he greeted the apprentices. “Is Gabriella available?”

  “She and Master DeMarco have gone to the Capital,” the other trainee explained. “There’s a Greek philosopher giving talks at the Forum. They went to hear him speak.”

  “Thank you,” Alerio offered trying to hide his disappointment.

  He had been too busy to visit recently and had hoped to dine with the brother and sister. For a heartbeat, he contemplated visiting Doctor Allocco’s hospital. Then he thought of the mill and decided to see the finished operation.

  ***

  It was a short distance through the alleyway and an easy trek across an open field to the creek. Water rushed down the wooden flume and struck the blades, turning the water wheel. Since the last time he was here, a raised floor with a set of steps, partial walls, and a roof had been built over the wheel.

  At the top of the steps, he announced himself, “I’m Alerio Sisera.”

  Two men worked around a rolling stone wheel. One recognized Alerio and raised a hand in greeting.

  “Centurion Sisera, what can we do for you?” he inquired.

  “I’m curious about how you mill wheat,” Alerio said.

  “Not just wheat,” the miller corrected. “People bring barley and spelt grains as well.”

  “So, someone brings in a sack full of one of the grains,” Alerio ventured. “And you grind it up for them?”

  “That’s inefficient,” the miller offered. “What we do is dump their grain in a hopper and inspect the content. It has to be dry, free of mold, and pebbles.”

  “Pebbles?” Alerio asked.

  “Some people will add rocks to make their bag heavier,” the man explained. “We check their grain, then give them a bag of ground grain. This way, we don’t have people standing around waiting on us. Or us standing around waiting for business.”

  “Speaking of business,” Alerio questioned. “How is business?”

  The miller indicated shelves of heavy timber with bags of grain resting on the wood. Then he pointed out another holding area. The sides of the bags in that area were dimpled.

  “Business is bountiful. We have lots to grind and can handle wagons of grain for exchange,” the miller assured him. “Come over to the stones and let me show you.”

  Alerio noted a thin layer of dust covering every flat surface in the building. He ran a finger along a board as he crossed the room.

  “That is flour,” the miller bragged. “See how fine it’s ground. Beautiful.”

  A grating sound grew louder as Alerio approached a large rotating stone wheel. Acting as an axle, a beam connected the center of the stone wheel to the beam sticking up from the water wheel. The vertical beam vanished through the center of a bottom stone and the floorboards before running down to the water wheel.

  “That’s the runner stone,” the miller described with a pat on the stone wheel. Then he rested a hand on the edge of the stone under the wheel. “And this is the bed stone.”

  As the runner stone rolled around the bed stone it crushed the raw grain. The passing forced the ground grain off to the side where a stone lip prevented the roughly milled grain from falling to the floor. The other miller used a ladle to scoop the grain back into the path of the runner stone.

  After four passes, the grain was pulverized into a powder. One miller extracted a plug from the edge of the bed stone and both men shoved the fluffy flour to the hole. Below the hole hung an empty bag.

  Once swept clean, one miller selected a new bag of raw grain for the bed stone. The other exchanged the full bag for an empty one and plugged the hole. In the meanwhile, the runner stone, powered by the water below, continued to trace the circular track.

  “This is what we do from dawn to dusk,” the miller bragged. “We create beautiful flour.”

  “That makes money and delicious, tender bread,” Alerio added. “Thank you for the tour.”

  From outside, a voice yelled. It wasn’t until Alerio descended the steps that the voice, of a man walking from the alleyway, came to him clearly.

  “Centurion Sisera,” the messenger called. “Centurion Sisera.”

  “I’m Sisera,” Alerio shouted back.

  “Sir. You are ordered to report to Senior Tribune Egidius Lubricum, immediately,” the man announced.

  “I didn’t do it,” Alerio whispered as he started across the field.

  “Excuse me, sir?” the courier asked.

  “Do I have time to clean up?” he inquired not really expecting an answer.

  “No, Centurion,” the messenger informed him. “The Tribune said immediately. He is serious enough that I have a horse for you.”

  “Then let’s not keep the Senior Tribune waiting,” Alerio said.

  He broke into a jog and the two raced for the alleyway and the mounts.

  Act 5

  Chapter 18 – Good Bad News

  Alerio pulled the horse to a stop, leaped from its back, handed the reins to the messenger and, raced into the headquarters’ building. Down a corridor, he slowed as he approached the Senior Tribune’s office.

  “Wrong way,” Typus advised. The Senior Centurion indicated an intersection leading to the Fleet Praetor’s suites.

  For the past few months, Zelare Sudoris had been in Rome eliciting funds from the Senate. His officers and conference rooms had been empty. Alerio expected them to have some activity. But still be mostly empty as the work of the fleet was handle
d by Senior Tribune Egidius Lubricum.

  Following the Senior Centurion, Alerio continued along the hallway towards the door of what should have been near empty offices. Around the corner, he revised the definition of empty. Two Legionaries from First Century stood guard on either side of a doorway.

  “Go in, shift to the right,” Typus instructed. “and wait to be recognized.”

  “What’s going on, Senior Centurion?” Alerio inquired.

  “For some reason, your name came up during discussions,” Typus replied.

  “Why me?” Alerio questioned.

  “I truly don’t know,” the Senior Centurion admitted.

  Alerio stepped between the sentries, crossed the threshold, and entered a conference room.

  ***

  If Alerio didn’t know everyone was a representative of the Republic’s Legion, he would assume bitter enemies faced off. Divided in attitude and expressions, he half expected the two sides of the room to come to blows.

  Fleet Praetor Zelare Sudoris, his staff officers and several Centurions held sway over one side. Across a table, Senior Tribune of the Fleet, Egidius Lubricum, stood at the front of his Tribunes. Absent from Lubricum’s contingent were line officers.

  Like the Praetor, Sudoris’ staff had serious working looks on their faces. Opposite them, Lubricum’s collection of noblemen appeared to have been sucking on lemons.

  As directed, Alerio shuffled along the wall. Once even with the Praetor’s side, he stopped and listened.

  “Until the Senate decrees it, General Scipio remains the senior Consul,” Egidius Lubricum proclaimed. “And in the absence of new orders, I am in charge of the new fleet.”

  “And I am a Praetor selected by the Senate,” Sudoris reminded the Senior Tribune. “We are not at odds. It’s simply an adjustment.”

  “A condition that will hamper sending ships to Sicilia,” Lubricum accused.

  Alerio thought back to the rumors. It seemed, Consul Duilius had been holding the squadrons for political purposes and against the First Tribune’s advice. As it always did, verbal sparring by politicians and important men made him nervous. A Legionary had to keep a clear head and a focus on the mission. To be distracted or have the back and forth of dissenting dialogue playing in one’s mind was deadly.