“The government has declared the Roman fleet to be superior to the Empire fleet,” Yehom uttered with indignity in his strained voice.
“I have said no such thing,” Sikar bellowed. “The government’s position, as even the counsel has stated, is that the Empire fleet is superior in every way to the Roman fleet.”
“If that is true,” Yehom inquired in a whiney, tortured voice. “Why are we here?”
“Because someone has to be held accountable to for the loss,” Sikar said. His tone revealing his frustration at the constant disruptions and questions.
The defense counsel stood erect, the bent spine and pain apparently gone.
“We are here, putting a hero through a public exhibition,” Yehom sneered. “Not because Hannibal Gisco is a coward. He is not. Or a fool, his appointment as Admiral refutes that. As an incompetent leader? Fleet Lieutenants control the actual fighting of our ships-of-war in combat. Perhaps we are only here, as Government Prosecutor Sikar has admitted, to affix blame because the government is embarrassed. And the last time I checked, humiliating our leaders from three hundred miles away is not a crime.”
“Forty-four ships, ten thousand men,” Sikar hammered the points home by jabbing a fist at the Admiral. “And one man was in command. One man carries the blame. And that man is Hannibal Gisco.”
***
By late afternoon, the sea breeze had stilled and the aroma from the orchards traveled no further than the access road circling the fruit trees. In the conference room, the interested parties and spectators sweated in the heat. Their attitudes as sour as unripe limes.
“In conclusion, despite the tricks by the defense counsel,” Sikar asserted. “justice for the defeat of our fleet lays at the feet of Hannibal Gisco. To atone for these horrible losses, the government of Qart Hadasht demands death by crucifixion.”
The three naval officers on the panel shifted uncomfortably. In the audience, half the attendees smiled at the possibility of execution. On the other side of the room, long faces told the tale of disappointment.
“Hannibal Gisco, do you have any words,” the magistrate offered. “before the panel retires to deliberate your fate?”
Yehom slumped in his chair. All day long he had been disruptive to the prosecutor and the voice of reason when the government used overstatements rather than facts. Now, Hannibal had an opportunity to remind the panel of his value to the Empire.
Figuring if Hannibal wouldn’t speak for himself, the counsel would. Yehom began to push out of his chair. A big hand dropped onto his shoulder and pressured the lawyer back to his seat.
Admiral Gisco rose and stretched his back. Squaring his shoulder, he locked eyes on the naval panel.
“This had been a long day of rhetoric,” Hannibal commented. “I imagine it would be well received in the Greek agora. There, men discuss the nature of right and wrong endlessly. Talk the nature of man and its many folds from sunup to sundown. In the agora words are weapons. But not in battle. Never when comrades die in front of you. Or friends are captured. Not then. In a fight it is dominating your enemy physically that matters and not words. It is all about winning. And to my detriment, I did not win.”
Hannibal stepped away from the table and pointed one finger at the panel.
“The government and my own counsel have sung the phrases of the Empire’s fleet,” Gisco exclaimed. “I cannot disagree for our fleets are the best in the world. I believe that. I can see by your expressions, you believe that as well. Then I ask you, my three judges. If you were there at Mylae, would you have trusted your fleet to devastate the still green warships of the Roman fleet?”
The three men on the panel and Fleet Magistrate Batnoam nodded their agreement. And not just the Navy men. A mixed number of spectators also agreed that they would have engaged the Roman forces.
“I, then, have done no wrong. For I went into the engagement with the same hopes as you,” Admiral Gisco offered. “The decision was within my power, but not the fortune of the battle.”
He walked to the table and took his seat.
“The panel will retire to discuss the merits of both sides as stated,” Batnoam announced.
Sikar stretched back in his chair, a self-satisfied grin on his face. Then the pleased expression fell to one of confusion. The three judges, rather than marching out of the room, converged on the magistrate’s table.
“There has been a verdict,” Batnoam said. Individually, the judges wrote on pieces of paper, slid them across the table, and left the conference room. When the last one vanished through the doorway, the fleet magistrate reviewed the papers, cleared his throat, and announced. “A unanimous decision had been reached. Hannibal Gisco, you are stripped of the title of Admiral and released from your duties with the Empire’s Navy. Let the decision be known in the name of the God Melqart and Goddess Tanit. This Naval Board of inquiry is dismissed.”
“Thank you Counsel Yehom,” Hannibal offered.
“You spoke?” the defense attorney blurted out. “But you didn’t before. And not that I’m complaining, but why now?”
“The Greeks have a school of philosophy called stoicism,” Hannibal replied. “It’s a way of thinking that guides one to happiness by accepting moments as they present themselves. And not by allowing oneself to be controlled by the desire for pleasure or pain. I spoke when it was time and not before.”
Chapter 41 – Rome 260 BC
“Optio. Straighten out the left flank,” Alerio coached. “and tell Pluto to stay on the centerline before our formation gets overrun.”
The NCO dashed to the left side and shoved one gawking infantryman into line and pulled another back to close the gap. Then he jogged to the front and bodily moved Legionary Pluto to the center of the avenue. Once the configuration was solid again, he glanced back at Centurion Sisera.
The officer sat on a mount wearing ceremonial armor with two Naval Crown medals on his chest and a crown of woven gold on his head. The Optio had to admit, the Centurion looked more dignified than he had as the weapons’ instructor at Ostia beach.
“Lose the grin, Sergeant,” Alerio instructed, although it took control to keep the smile off his own face.
Citizens crowded the streets and sides of the road. Pretty girls flirted with the Legionaries and the infantrymen kept forgetting their job was to clear the way for the rest of General Gaius Duilius’ triumphant parade.
They wandered offline for a hug or a sweet cake or a drink of vino. Every time, the throng moved closer, threatening to crush Alerio’s vanguard element.
“Open the street,” Alerio informed the Legionaries. “We have wheeled carts behind us. If you care to return the good will, you will move the people back.”
With relief, the avenue curved and started up Capitoline Hill.
***
High above the flat between Capitoline and Palatine Hills, the crowds thinned and Alerio and his men relaxed. The next cluster of citizens waited at the crest of the hill. For now, his unit moved on an empty road. Peering over his shoulder, Alerio eyed the rest of the procession.
Directly behind, oxen pulled giant carts. Resting on cradles, the fronts of Qart Hadasht ships-of-war loomed over the road. Jutting out front of the bow sections were the deadly bronze rams. The bronze bodies and vicious fins had been polished to better display the weapons to the crowds.
Following the ship sections, captured oarsmen, toting long oars, shuffled in loose ranks. The presence of live enemies elicited jeers, insults, and attacks from the citizens. The Legionaries guarding the prisoners had a harder time holding back the crowd than Alerio’s unit.
Coming behind the captured rowers, ranks of Republic oarsmen and sailors marched a little out of step. The uneven cadence was to be forgiven as they were seamen and not Legionaries.
Even ranks of marching Legionaries came after the seagoing detachment. Big shields held as steady as the javelins resting on their shoulders, showed professionalism to the multitudes. Behind the infantrymen, came the Gene
ral’s chariot pulled by a matched team of four horses.
A crown of laurel encircled Gaius Duilius’ head while a toga painted purple and gold wrapped his body. With humility, the victorious General acknowledged the cheering crowds.
“Make way for General Gaius Duilius,” Alerio’s Optio called out.
His warning was for the crowd at the crest of the hill and to alert his Legionaries that they were approaching a street packed with people. There was less distraction at the top as many of the onlookers were priests from surrounding temples. But there were enough young women and people offering vino to the heroes of Mylae that some infantrymen strayed.
“Optio, maintain our lines,” Alerio urged.
He nudged the horse to the top of Capitoline Hill. A sideways glance confirmed the citizens here were mostly from nearby temples. Then a chill ran down Alerio’s spine.
On the other side of the road, standing on a low brick wall was a Senior Tribune. As part of the festivities, many veterans put on their armor and strutted around telling war stories. Combined with active or recently deactivated Legion officers and infantrymen, the city streets crawled with armored men. The man on the wall wasn’t a deactivated officer out showing off.
Alerio remembered the piercing eyes and the scar high on the man’s left cheek from the selection process for a guardian of the Sibylline Books. As an associate of Senator Megellus, the staff officer was no friend of Alerio’s.
And just as Alerio identified the Senior Tribune, the staff officer recognized Centurion Sisera. He indicated this by spitting on the ground, placing a hand on the pummel of his pugio, and partially drawing the dagger from its sheath.
“Not a very friendly greeting on a festival day,” Alerio mumbled.
His horse reached the flat on top of the hill and the Senior Tribune fell behind and was soon lost in the crowd. But, the memory of the overt threat lingered.
***
Alerio’s advance squads opened a path to the Temple of Jupiter. After General Gaius Duilius made a generous contribution and a worthy sacrifice thanking the God Jupiter for victory, Centurion Sisera’s vanguard led the parade back down Capitoline Hill to the Forum. There the afternoon was consumed by Senators bragging about supporting Consul Duilius. In each speech, they attempted to carve off a small slice of the General’s conquest for their own use.
The sun was low in the sky when Consul Duilius and, Alerio’s mentor, Spurius Maximus strolled from the dais.
“Centurion Sisera,” Maximus greeted Alerio. “You made me proud.”
“How is that, sir?” Alerio inquired.
“I suggested Gaius appoint you head weapons’ instructor,” Maximus replied. “Told him he would not be disappointed, despite the political risks.”
“Political risks, sir?” a puzzled Alerio asked.
“You spent an enormous amount of gold at Ostia,” Duilius pointed out. “With expenses that large, the Senate wanted to assign responsibility to a steering committee headed by a Senior Tribune.”
Alerio thought back to the staff officer on the roadside at Capitoline Hill. Could he have been the Tribune considered for the oversight position?
“Did they have anyone specific in mind, sir,” Alerio questioned.
“I believe the name of Ignazio Rudentis Dispansus was tossed around,” Maximus answered.
“Senator Maximus warned me that a committee would slow down the training,” Duilius clarified for Alerio. “A lot of important people warned me. But I saw your passion and decided our fleet was better off with you as the solo director of the training operation.”
“I appreciate your confidence in me, General,” Alerio acknowledged.
But he was distracted by the memory of the half-drawn dagger and the crude spitting. Through no fault of his own, Alerio had made an enemy of a staff officer. In no man’s Legion was that a good thing.
“I am holding a feast for Gaius at my Villa tonight,” Maximus boasted. “You are welcome to drop by. But the guests are Senators and their supporters. After introductions, you’ll eat with the other staff members. That is if you don’t have other plans.”
“As a matter of fact, sir,” Alerio informed his mentor and General Duilius. To help explain, he pulled the Venus necklace from a pouch.
“Ah, a woman,” Maximus said exploding in laughter. “If only I was young and free.”
“It’s not what…,” Alerio started to explain.
“A quality piece of jewelry for a girl from a good family,” Gaius Duilius exclaimed. “Maximus, we will not be seeing this young officer tonight. He has a lady love to court.”
The Senators marched away, both chuckling at being young and in love.
“Optio, our General and the important people have left the Forum,” Alerio announced. “We are dismissed. March the men to camp and express my thanks for today.”
“The men were honored to be part of the parade,” the infantry NCO expressed. “as was I. Good evening, Centurion Sisera.”
***
The chanting by a choir echoed from the walls of the temple. There was always singing in this temple as the celebrants prepared day and night to call the Goddess. Somewhere around the city a citizen hovered near death from old age, illness, or an accident. When the physician gave up hope and the family felt at a loss, a choir and priest from the Temple of Nenia would be summoned. The singing then would invite the goddess to come and help the living pass beyond this world.
Through the open doors, the low sun of late afternoon splashed light down the center aisle. Then the doorway darkened, and the floor tiles displayed the elongated shadow of a man as he entered. The clicks of his hobnailed boots on the tiles ran counter to the rhythm of chanting.
A devotee left the choir and approached the Centurion. The officers’ polished armor, no doubt worn for the victory parade, and the two medals on his chest attested to his bravery. And the scars on his arms and on his bare head spoke to his experience in battle.
“The Goddess Nenia is watching,” the adherent offered in a soft voice. “How can she help you?”
The infantry officer lifted his hand and from his fingers dangled a necklace.
“This is for the goddess,” Alerio said.
“It is a very generous offering,” the priest admitted. He took the Venus necklace and inquired. “Would you like to tour the temple? Few get to experience the inner sanctum of Nenia Dea.”
“Priest, the goddess and I have a special relationship,” Alerio informed him. “I’ve created interim temples for her in locations throughout the Republic and Sicilia. And stocked them with injured in need of her blessings. Based on the number of deaths, she always comes when I call. You could say, I know the Goddess Nenia better than most men know their wives.”
Centurion Alerio Sisera turned, marched out of the temple and into the last rays of the setting sun. Oddly enough, he still felt the necklace’s weight in the empty pouch.
Squinting into the dying sunlight, Alerio glanced around searching for the nearest pub. Once he located it, he intended to drink a series of toasts to the love of his life.
The End
A note from J. Clifton Slater
Thank you for reading Unjust Sacrifice. You have read eleven books in the Clay Warrior Stories series and I am humbled and grateful for your support.
The driving force for the Republic in 260 BC centered around the capture of General Gnaeus Scipio. To lose a Consul in battle was intolerable, but to have one taken without a fight cut deeply into Roman pride.
During the buildup of Rome’s first fleet, they did build land-based rowing stations. Teaching over 30,900 new oarsmen the basics on land before attempting to row at sea cut down the training time and helped mold the oarsmen into functioning crews.
In Unjust Sacrifice, legends and bits of information proved golden or were excluded. Old lore reported how Tarquin the Proud, the last King of Rome, came to possess the Sibylline Books. The documents were protected and interpreted by a cadre of Senators and non-nob
les in a cave under the Temple of Jupiter. However, there was no record of how the guardians were chosen. The limited information allowed me to invent the selection process for the custodians.
Another example of choice story fodder, ancient historian Cassius Dios reported the speech that saved Admiral Hannibal Gisco’s life. But Cassius left no additional details. This opened a path for me to create the trial scene.
Consul/General Gaius Duilius did have a triumphant parade and a hero’s welcome for his victory at Mylae, modern day Milazzo, Sicily. A fact that did not make it into the book, bronze fins, or beaks, from a Carthaginian ram were embedded in a column in the Forum. The Columna Rostrata C. Duilii, erected in Duilius' honor, became a favored spot for impassioned speeches for hundreds of years.
I write military adventure both future and ancient. That makes me a multi genre author with books in the science fiction category and in the historical fiction field. In both instances, I do a deep dive into research before weaving the story. Follow me on my Amazon Author page for new releases and, if you enjoyed the book, leave a review. Comments or questions are always welcome, please contact me.
E-Mail: [email protected]
Facebook: Galactic Council Realm & Clay Warrior Stories
Alerio implores the God Janus to deliver for you endings from your troubles and transitions to better things. Until next time, I am J. Clifton Slater wishing you good health and happy reading.
Books by J. Clifton Slater
Clay Warrior Stories series
#1 Clay Legionary
#2 Spilled Blood
#3 Bloody Water
#4 Reluctant Siege
#5 Brutal Diplomacy
#6 Fortune Reigns
#7 Fatal Obligation
#8 Infinite Courage
#9 Deceptive Valor
#10 Neptune’s Fury
#11 Unjust Sacrifice
Terror and Talons series
#1 Hawks of the Sorcerer Queen
#2 Magic and the Rage of Intent
Unjust Sacrifice Page 25
