Unjust Sacrifice

by Slater, J. Clifton

  Wishing you strength and vigor,

  Spurius Carvilius Maximus, Citizen and Senator of the Republic

  Alerio handed the letter to Typus and glanced at the sky to judge the lateness of the day.

  “I believe Ovanter committed suicide,” Alerio reported. “Can we visit the discussion when I get back from the Capital?”

  “I am the Fleet’s Senior Centurion,” Typus declared. “I already know about the unfortunate training accident. A letter of condolence will be sent to his family. There is nothing for us to discuss.”

  “Thank you, Senior Centurion,” Alerio said. “Unless you believe otherwise, I’m heading for the stables.”

  “Senator Maximus is a friend of the Legion. Whatever he needs, we are happy to comply,” Typus encouraged. “Go, get to Rome and the Senator.”

  Alerio spun on his heels and sprinted towards the stable.

  A short time later, he galloped out of the gates of the naval base. At about a third of the way to the Capital, a weight crushed Alerio’s heart. He had forgotten about the feast with Gabriella and Nicolas DeMarco. And in his haste, he neglected to send a note explaining his absence.

  Act 7

  Chapter 25 – Mosaic Pretty

  Alerio rode through the gates of the Capital wanting a shave and a bath. He knew the sweat and ripe aroma from yesterday’s training and the hard ride up from Ostia clung to his clothing and skin. But it was well past midday and he had things to do first.

  Several blocks from the city’s defensive wall, Alerio reined in his horse and slipped to the ground. In two steps, he reached a bolted door and rapped with the knocker. Then he stepped back to wait.

  “What do you want?” Tomas Kellerian demanded through a slit in the door. “A fine thing disturbing a working man’s intervigilium.”

  “You can nap later, armorer,” Alerio suggested. “After I pick up the gear ordered by Senator Maximus.”

  “Harpocrates bless me, don’t you ever learn,” Tomas scolded. “Meet me at the gate.”

  The iron slit closed and a second door behind the first slammed shut. Alerio walked his horse to the wall beyond the building’s facade. Moments later, the gate swung open and he walked through.

  “Put the animal in a stall and come inside,” Tomas Kellerian ordered.

  “Who is Harpocrates?” Alerio question while removing the bit from the horse’s mouth. “There you go. Now you can eat.”

  “Harpocrates is the Greek God of Silence, Secrets, and Confidentiality,” Tomas answered. “Three things you should practice when standing on a public street.”

  “But you asked what I wanted,” Alerio protested.

  “The streets have ears,” Tomas warned without acknowledging Alerio’s comment. “Come inside and try it on.”

  “Try what on?” Alerio asked.

  “Centurion Sisera, are you this dense while on duty?” Tomas inquired.

  “Probably,” Alerio admitted.

  ***

  The afternoon light from high windows reflected off sets of silver and gold ceremonial armor. They were for wealthy men who wanted to shine while on parade or appear grand at high class functions.

  “Never mind those,” Tomas called. “Come here and see if these fit? I had some old measurements for you, but you can never tell until you try it on.”

  In the former Centurion’s hands were parts of a new set of leather armor. Metal bands inlaid in the leather reinforced the old style of war gear.

  “No one wears that style,” Alerio protested. “Are you sure you understood the Senator?”

  “Belen brought a picture,” Tomas said mentioning the Senator’s secretary. “I couldn’t screw this up if you had ordered it.”

  “If I ordered it, the armor would be able to stop a sword strike,” Alerio remarked.

  He slipped an arm through the shoulder rig. Surprisingly light, the pieces fit with little adjustments from the straps.

  “This will stop a sword strike,” Tomas informed him. “And the inlaid metal bands will deflect a slash.”

  “Why am I getting new outdated armor?” Alerio asked.

  From the shoulder rig, the molded chest and back pieces and the armored skirt, he appeared ready for war in a different time. Maybe one with the Samnites or east coast Greek rebels from twenty years in the past.

  “You’ll love this,” Tomas declared while he settled an officer’s helmet on Alerio’s head. Rather than the red dye, the horsehair comb was white. Then the armorer draped a new white cloak over Alerio’s shoulders. “You are as pretty as a mosaic in a rich man’s Villa.”

  “Why am I wearing senior commander white?” Alerio questioned

  “Don’t ask me,” Tomas remarked. “I just build what is ordered. Maybe the Senator is going to buy a Legion and make you the battle commander.”

  “Not likely,” Alerio stated.

  “One thing I do know,” Tomas offered. “You need a shave and a bath. You stink of salt, horse, sweat, and charcoal.”

  “All honestly earned,” Alerio shot back.

  “You are an infantry officer,” Tomas replied. “Nothing you do is honest labor.”

  “Have the gear sent to the Chronicles Humanum Inn,” Alerio instructed. “I’m due at the Senator’s Villa before sundown. And you are right, I do need to freshen up first.”

  ***

  Shaved, soaped, dipped, and scraped, Alerio Sisera strolled into the inn’s great room.

  “Master Harricus, I have to be across the city before sunset,” Alerio announced. “But I am really hungry now. Can I get a platter of whatever is handy?”

  “Legion officers. You are all the same. Rush in demand service then race off again,” Thomasious Harricus complained. Despite the mini tirade, he smiled and indicated a table. “Sit down, Alerio. What brings you to the Capital?”

  “Something to do with Senator Maximus. For the life of me, I don’t know what,” Alerio confessed. “But I do need to speak with you.”

  “Even if it’s juicy gossip, I’m not interested,” Thomasious informed him.

  “Since when aren’t you interested in news of any kind?” Alerio challenged.

  “Since the city guard rounded up the older of my little clay ears,” Thomasious described. “They are just boys. What could the guard want with them other than to hunt for the Clay Ear. To hunt for me.”

  Alerio started to laugh when he noted the distress on the inn keeper’s face.

  “I don’t think they’re rounding up the older boys because of you,” Alerio proposed. “It’s more likely the boys are levied into the fleet as rowers.”

  “Oarsmen? How many could the Republic need?” Thomasious questioned.

  “Around thirty-one thousand,” Alerio said without inflection.

  It took a heartbeat before the number registered with Thomasious Harricus. When it did, the largest gossip-dispenser in the Capital deflated and fell back in his chair.

  “How many warships is that?” he questioned. “And why haven’t I heard about this?”

  A serving girl set a platter of ham, olives, and bread on the table. Along with the food came a pitcher of vino and two glasses.

  “Ever since Consul Scipio was taken prisoner…” Alerio began but was immediately interrupted.

  “Gnaeus Cornelius Scipio?” Thomasious asked. “Our Consul, and the General of the fleet, captured?”

  Alerio picked up an olive and plopped it in his mouth. Then with bread in one hand and a slice of ham in the other, he paused in his chewing to answer.

  “It’s common knowledge at the naval base in Ostia among the staff officers,” Alerio replied. The inn keeper sat up board straight and locked his eyes on Alerio. The Centurion continued. “One hundred and three warships. While General Gaius Duilius is marching to Sicilia, Praetor Sudoris is readying the fleet to go to Sicilia and punish the Empire. How long has it been since you collected information?”

  “Apparently too long,” Thomasious ventured. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”
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  Alerio stood and stretched his back.

  “I need to get dressed, Master Harricus, before I’m late,” Alerio said. “Maybe some other time.”

  “Well at least give me a hint?” Thomasious begged. “You helped me. I’d like to help you.”

  “I’ve met a woman. She’s beautiful, smart, and talented,” Alerio told him as he approached the double doors. “An honest woman, she will make a worthy wife.”

  “Regrettably, my friend,” Thomasious Harricus admitted. “I know neither type.”

  Alerio ducked through the doors, heading for his room and the custom armor. The inn keeper busied himself with arranging chairs and tables for the evening crowd.

  Chapter 26 – Values Displayed

  It might have been his lack of self-worth, but Alerio felt uncomfortable in the commander’s dress. And stares from people he passed seemed to accuse him of stealing the bleached cloak and white plumed helmet. Surprisingly, some older veterans saluted what they assumed was a Battle Commander. Their misplaced gestures of respect added to Alerio’s uneasiness. With relief, he guided the horse off the main road and onto the driveway at the Senator’s city estate.

  “Goddess Bai. Thank you for the strength of my body and my drive to keep pushing forward,” Alerio prayed to the statue outside the Villa.

  Dropping to the ground, Alerio flung the cloak over his shoulder and walked to the front door.

  “Centurion Sisera, you look splendid,” Belen offered, flinging the door open before Alerio could knock. “Come in. I’ll have the stable boy care for your mount. Master Monos is already here.”

  They entered the house and crossed the foyer. A small bridge over a drain lined with smooth rocks allowed access to a large room. Surrounding the chamber were divider partitions. Isos Monos, the artist from Sicyon, stood in the center of the room. Where a few objects of art once rested on the low walls, now miniature Gods, Goddesses, and animals of all varieties fought for exhibition space. The artist had been busy.

  “Isos, good to see you,” Alerio greeted the Greek artist. “Do you know why I am here?”

  “Centurion Sisera, good afternoon,” Isos replied. “I haven’t been informed. However, with you armed and in armor, I feel that I might be in jeopardy.”

  From down a hallway, the Senator’s voice easily carried to the room.

  “Not to worry Isos,” Spurius Carvilius Maximus assured him. “You and I are in no danger other than an attack on our spirits.”

  Alerio noted the Senator left him out of the ‘not to worry’ group.

  “Sisera, on the other hand, might have to face a challenge,” the former Consul and award-winning General added. “But that depends.”

  Alerio bent at the waist and leaned in the direction of the hallway. Out of self-preservation, he wanted Senator Maximus to finish the sentence.

  “Depends on what, General?” Alerio asked, using Spurius Maximus’ preferred form of address.

  “I wish I could tell you,” Maximus told him. “A military man always wants more intelligence before a fight. I understand that.”

  The Senator was a robust man with powerful arms. A cloak, the color of fresh cream, wrapped Spurius Maximus’ body leaving his arms visible.

  “I can tell you I am a candidate for a respected position,” Maximus revealed while strolling down the hallway. He adjusted the material as if getting the fit exactly right for the full effect of the rich fabric. “You’ll learn more at the selection process. But you won’t hear it from me.”

  “Why not, sir?” Alerio inquired.

  “The position is to replace one of ten caretakers,” Maximus replied. “Each one sworn, under penalty of death, not to reveal anything about their charge.”

  “If it’s such a secret,” Isos Monos questioned. “Why are we accompanying you, sir? I mean, Senator, I’m not even a citizen. I should not know secrets. Perhaps, it’s best if I remain here and await your return.”

  “Part of the process requires the nominee to display his values,” Maximus stated. “You two represent my passions and I want you standing with me.”

  “War and art, Senator?” Alerio guessed.

  “Control and creativity,” Maximus corrected.

  From the backdoor, Belen announced, “The carriage is ready, Senator.”

  Maximus, Monos, and Sisera walked outside to find a coach with blackout curtains. A teamster and four household guards, armed with spears, waited next to the transport.

  “On the way to Capitoline Hill,” the Senator informed his guests. “No one can see who the potential caretakers are. But it’s a good thing as it will ease the pain when my opponent is denied.”

  Hearing the confidence and pride in Spurius Maximus’ voice, Alerio offered a silent prayer to Invidia. He requested the Goddess of Envy to tamper down the emotion if, at the end of the selection, Maximus lost.

  They entered the carriage and sat in darkness. The transport’s wheels bounced on the pavers as it crossed the Capital on the way to Capitoline Hill and a clandestine meeting. At the time, neither Isos nor Alerio realized how covert.

  ***

  ‘This is getting to be a bad habit,’ Alerio thought as the carriage made a turn and started up Capitoline Hill.

  The last time he ascended the mount, he had also been in a blacked-out cart. Hopefully, this trip would not include a visit to Tarpeian Rock and his execution.

  A sense of foreboding settled on Alerio when he realized where they were going. Without being told and despite the lack of sight, Alerio knew by the length of travel that the carriage stopped at the Temple of Jupiter.

  “Keep your eyes straight ahead,” the Senator warned. “In short, do not look too curious. Let’s go.”

  Spurius Maximus, Isos Monos, and Alerio departed the carriage and stepped on pavers between two columns of temple guards.

  “Please remain in the formation and keep the pace,” a temple officer directed. “Forward, march.”

  They cut across a colonnade and Alerio didn’t need to look around. He recognized the path between buildings that led to a small amphitheater.

  “A multipurpose facility,” Alerio said softly.

  “What’s that Centurion?” Maximus inquired.

  The question surprised Alerio. He didn’t realize he spoke loud enough to be heard over the marching boots. And, the Senator had called him, Centurion. Then it occurred to Alerio that he was representing the ideal of a senior infantry officer. With the thought in mind, Alerio braced his shoulders and straightened his spine. For the rest of the walk to the theater, he marched stiffly. As if a General climbing the steps to the Senate building in front of a huge crowd of citizens to receive accolades.

  “Sir, simply a comment on the facility,” Alerio replied.

  “Keep your observations to yourself,” Maximus suggested.

  ***

  They entered the open-air auditorium and the temple guards spread out to seal the exits. Alerio noticed the guards faced inward. Their job wasn’t to keep people out, but to make sure no one left without permission.

  Three men approached from the other side of the amphitheater. One wore a cream-colored robe which resembled Senator Maximus’ clothing. But the similarity ended at the cloth. Where Maximus carried the muscles that made him a successful hands-on-General, the material on the other nobleman hung off a tall thin frame.

  Another of the trio moved easily in his uniform. While Alerio wore a senior line officer’s armor, the opposing military man carried the rank of a Senior Tribune. Both were Legion, but one was a staff officer and the other an infantry commander.

  Alerio had no reference to judge the third man. Isos, he knew as an artist. Studying the other side, Alerio tried to imagine what virtue was represented by a man with a handful of scrolls and coin purses hanging from his belt.

  “It is written there are ten,” a priest of Jupiter announced. He indicated nine men sitting on the curved benches of the theater. “One has fallen and can no longer fulfill his obligation.” />
  Alerio now understood the reason for the selection. One of the caretakers had died. He had no idea for what obligation, only that his mentor was a candidate.

  The priest began to chant.

  The last King of Rome, the seventh of his line

  Ruled by fear, with a closed mind

  Arrogant beyond control, Lucius Tarquinius Superbus

  Tarquin the Proud, as he was known to us

  Traveled to Naples, to visit a seer

  As his power waned, to hold his crown

  And extend his reign

  The Cumaean Sibyl, a humble oracle

  Lived by love, her retorts rhetorical

  An audience granted, King Tarquin the Proud

  Stomped in the room, and demanded loud

  Give me the gift, to interpret the Gods

  As my time is now, for conquest

  And all must bow

  The Sibylline Books, the answer to his plea

  She possessed, he asked with glee

  How much for the lot, your crown is the price

  Careful woman, of your offer think twice

  With no hesitation, she responded defiantly

  With three remedies, of the nine

  Held in jeopardy

  Your crown’s the cost, or I’ll burn three

  Flames bit, the trio went absentee

  How much for the lot, the price is the same

  But there are six, don’t be insane

  With no hesitation, she lifted three more

  There were nine, but vain and smug

  Curses your bloodline

  For Sibylline Books, the value is clear

  Even for six, the cost too dear

  How much for the lot, three more to the fire

  Now just a trio, the cost hasn’t expired

  I’ll pay what you ask, Tarquin promised

  My crown put away, for the Republic

  And the Senate’s ways

  “But Lucius Tarquinius Superbus, the last King of Rome did not resign,” the priest said dropping the sing song intonation. “It took a revolt by his subjects to create the Republic and make the people citizens. And so, the price was paid. The new Senate ruled that five new-men and five noblemen would guard and decipher the words of the original prophet when required. Forever more, the Sibylline Books would be available to the people of the Republic through these guardians. In times of disaster, ten men would read so we could heed and entreat the Gods to intercede on our behalf.”