Reluctant Siege

by J. Clifton Slater

  The officer looked at the medic holding the Tribune in his lap.

  “Strange treatment for a staff officer, Doc,” he pointed out. “Is suckling now a Legion approved treatment?”

  “No, Centurion. It’s just I was taken by surprise when they came in,” stammered the medic.

  “And ended up holding him like a babe in arms?” the Centurion stated. “Someone help the medic move the Tribune to a surgery table. The rest of you, clear this room.”

  “But Centurion, the Sergeant said to disarm…” the squad leader began when the Centurion chopped the air with his hand.

  “What part of clear this room did you not understand?” he inquired.

  “Squad, dismissed,” their leader ordered.

  He followed eight of them out while the last two helped move Peregrinus to a table. Then they scrambled to escape the glare of their Century’s Centurion. Once the room was cleared, the officer looked closely at Alerio.

  “You resemble your father,” he said. “How is Sergeant Sisera?”

  “I wouldn’t know, sir,” Alerio replied. “I’ve been stationed with the Southern Legion. They sent me north with Gurges Legion so I could take leave and visit my family after the engagement.”

  “So why are you here?” he inquired.

  “General Gurges and Colonel Pholus were killed and half the Legion is dead or wounded,” Alerio reported. “Lieutenant General Silenus Eduardus sent Tribune Peregrinus out with dispatches. I’m his guide and bodyguard.”

  “And how is that working out?” the Centurion asked indicating the Tribune.

  “It’s been a busy night,” reported Alerio.

  The Centurion took Peregrinus’ pack and walked over to the medic’s table. After pulling out the Legion dispatches, he sat and read through the stack of reports.

  “Doc, how’s the Tribune?” the officer inquired as he rewrapped then stuffed the reports back into the pack.

  “From my initial examination, I’d say exhaustion,” the medic replied. “But his knees are swollen and he has deep rope marks on his wrists and ankles. He needs rest.”

  “I’m sending over hot food,” the officer informed the medic. “Whatever they need, get it. They leave at first light for the Capital. Sisera, take care of the Tribune.”

  “Yes sir. Will we see you again?” asked Alerio. “I think Tribune Peregrinus would like to thank you.”

  “No time, Lance Corporal,” the Centurion announced as he reached the doorway. “I’m marching my Century north to block the road. If the barbarians decide to come south, I’ll have a surprise for them.”

  ***

  Before sunrise, four Legionaries carried Tribune Peregrinus to the docks. Alerio walked behind with the torchbearers at the rear of the procession. They filed through the rear gates, down a narrow wood walkway and onto a pier.

  “We’ll have you at the Capital in two and a half days, sir,” the Corporal of the patrol boat informed Peregrinus.

  His answer was a half raised right hand that dropped almost as quickly as it had lifted from under the blanket. With a wave from the Corporal, the bearers carried the Tribune onto the boat. She was a thirty-oar, single banked Legion river patrol boat. They placed the Tribune in the center of the boat and Alerio to the rear.

  “You can store your packs under the bench,” the Corporal offered.

  “These packs stay by my side,” Alerio informed him. “Although, I’d like a turn on an oar tomorrow.”

  “You know rowing?” the NCO asked.

  “Southern Legion training,” Alerio responded. “I need to stay in shape.”

  “I don’t think anyone will have a problem with a break,” the Corporal replied. Then he announced to the oarsmen, “Blades up.”

  Fifteen oars on either side of the boat were raised straight in the air. A Legionary on the dock shoved the boat and it drifted until the current caught her.

  “Ready all. Oars in,” the NCO ordered. “Pull through. Stroke, stroke, stroke.”

  The patrol boat surged forward as thirty oars, in perfect unison, rowed them down the Tiber river.

  Chapter - 17 Capital City Docks

  The NCO was true to his word. The patrol boat approached the Capital docks two and a half days later. The half was a guess as pouring rain and heavy clouds blocked the sun. Alerio watched as the Corporal leaped to the dock while the boat was still being secured to the pier.

  He approached a man holding a slate tablet and dressed in an oiled goatskin coat. Two slaves stood in the rain a respectful distance behind the man. After a few words, the Corporal returned to the patrol boat. The man with the slate tablet sent one of his slaves racing off towards the city.

  “The Harbor Master is securing a carriage for you, Tribune Peregrinus,” reported the NCO.

  When Peregrinus didn’t respond, Alerio spoke for the Tribune, “Thank you, Corporal. Your crew did a good job. If the Tribune were able, I’m sure he would express the sentiment himself. If you’re staying for the night, I’d like to buy you a mug of vino and a meal.”

  “Both sound good but, we have orders to report back as soon as possible,” the Corporal replied. Then he shouted to the boat’s three Lance Corporals, “Give me four bodies to carry the Tribune to the carriage.”

  A small enclosed coach, pulled by two ponies, rolled onto the pier. The Harbor Master spoke to the driver before walking away followed by his two slaves.

  Peregrinus groaned as he was lifted from the boat. When his cloak shifted, he shivered violently. Alerio reached out and adjusted the covering. He also pulled his own cloak up to keep the rain off his head.

  Once the Legionaries placed the Tribune in the carriage, Alerio climbed up and placed the warm fur robe over the Tribune’s cloak. He dropped their packs on the floorboards and climbed down.

  “To Villa Peregrinus. Do you know it?” he asked the coachman.

  With his cloak over his head, only Alerio’s face showed. He and Peregrinus appeared to be two young men from wealthy families. Most likely, based on their mode of transportation, returning home from playing Tribune with the Legion.

  “I know the Capital, lad,” the coachman replied. “Don’t you think I know the city?”

  “Fine. But take it slow and don’t jar the Tribune,” he warned.

  “Are you telling me my business?” demanded the driver. “If you don’t think I know what I’m doing, let’s have the city guard and a Magistrate decide.”

  Alerio was shocked. He didn’t know what he had done to the anger coachman.

  “Sir. I’m just trying to get the Tribune to his father’s villa,” Alerio pleaded.

  Suddenly, the Harbor Master appeared through the rain. The two slaves were now standing right beside him. Up close, the slaves were thick with corded muscles and both their faces displayed scars from prior fights.

  “What seems to be the problem?” the Harbor Master asked. “You can’t block the pier with this coach. Move along!”

  “I’m not going anywhere until the city guard gets here,” the coachman declared. “I’m a freeman and a Citizen. I will not be insulted.”

  The Harbor Master lifted a hand to his chin as if in deep thought about the situation. Finally, he dropped the hand and looked at Alerio.

  “See here, young sir. Why don’t you offer a tip to the coachman?” he explained. “You know, just to clear this up, so you can be on your way.”

  Then to the coachman, the Harbor Master asked, “Would a gold coin sooth your feelings?”

  “Two golds and I will forget the whole thing,” announced the coachman. “And I’ll happily drive the young gentlemen to their grand villas.”

  Being worried about the Tribune’s health and wanting to get him home as soon as possible, Alerio started to reach for his coin pouch. But the coachman’s words echoed in his head. The hand stopped in midair.

  “I’m a farm lad. My father’s small villa is over a hundred miles from here,” Alerio stated as he slung back his cloak. “And I’m a Lance Corporal, no
t a gentleman.”

  When the cloak slipped from the lad’s head, the wealthy youth facing the Harbor Master vanished and a scarred Legionary took his place. Although young, the Legionary was obviously a veteran.

  While pointing at the two slaves, Alerio glared at the Harbor Master and suggested, “Let’s call the city guard. Unless you think these two can take my coin pouch. However, before you decide, understand this. The Tribune is a courier for Gurges Legion bearing dispatches for the Senate. So please, call the city guard and explain why you and the coachman delayed the Senate’s messages. Oh, and I’m his bodyguard. What will it be Harbor Master?”

  “To Villa Peregrinus, off you go,” urged the harbor master.

  “Right away, master,” the coachman said as he cracked his whip over the ponies’ heads.

  The carriage rolled away and Alerio placed a hand on the rear to keep pace. They moved off the docks and were soon heading towards the Temple of Portunus.

  Chapter – 18 Villa Peregrinus

  The Villa Peregrinus occupied a wide strip two blocks north of the Capitol building. While not as large or ornate as those villas clad in clay bricks to the second floor, it did have a half bricked first floor with carved wood for the second floor on the main villa. The rounded clay tiles of four large outbuildings were observable over a substantial wall.

  The coachman guided the ponies onto the paved drive, passed the carriage gate, and halted the team at the main entrance. Alerio took the three steps up to the door and rapped hard on the carved oak. When no one answered, he pounded harder.

  Standing with rain water pouring off his head, Alerio looked back at the coachman and shrugged. The driver purposely turned his head away ignoring the plight of the wet Legionary.

  Another series of hard fist-to-wood strikes brought a pair of eyes to the barred peep hole.

  “Deliveries at the merchandise gate,” a man advised through the head high opening. “Around the corner on the east side.”

  “Is this Villa Peregrinus?” inquired Alerio.

  “Yes! And delivers are made at the east entrance,” the man insisted.

  “In the coach is Armenius Peregrinus,” Alerio informed him. “I don’t think the master of the villa would require his son to be delivered at the merchandise gate.”

  “Wait, wait,” the man shouted. Then away from the door, he yelled, “House guards. To the main entrance.”

  The door opened and Alerio saw a bald, older man.

  “Where is he?” the man demanded.

  “In the coach. But, he’s ill,” Alerio replied. “Are you his grandfather?”

  “No. I’m Photius, the villa’s administrator,” the man corrected. He walked on old stiff legs to the carriage and struggled until he managed to climb up. “Young master Peregrinus?” he asked. “Are you well?”

  Two large, armed men came through the doorway. Photius waved at them. “Come here. Be gentle. Take Master Peregrinus his room.”

  After the Tribune was handed down from the coach and carried away, Alerio reached in and pulled out the packs. Then, he took out a coin pouch, extracted five silver coins and handed them to the coachman. The man sneered at him, cracked the whip and the carriage rolled away.

  Alerio watched the coach until it left the drive and made a U-turn on the street. Hoisting the packs, he shook the water off his head and turned towards the doorway. The intricately carved oak door was closed.

  After mounting the steps, he pounded on the door. On his third attempt, one of the house guards peered out.

  “You’ve made your delivery,” the guard sneered. “If you expect a reward, you’ve come begging at the wrong villa. Be gone.”

  Alerio started to explain but realized he would be arguing with a house guard. Not Armenius’ father or even Photius, the villa’s administrator, both with the power to admit him, he was presenting his case to the person with the least authority. Shaking his head at the ill-mannered treatment, he adjusted the packs and pulled the cloak over his head. At the end of the drive, he turned left and headed for the Capitol building.

  ***

  Two blocks later and across the manicured grounds, Alerio stepped under an overhang at the Capitol building.

  “No loitering, Legionary,” a city guardsman states as he marched up.

  “I’m looking for directions,” Alerio said then he paused because he wasn’t sure where to take the Legion dispatches. A moment later, he asked, “Where is Villa Maximus? I have a letter to deliver to Senator Spurius Carvilius Maximus.”

  The guardsman pointed to the northeast.

  “Cross the boulevard, walk three blocks and turn north,” he instructed. “Look for the villa with the marble statue of Bia. You can’t miss the Goddess. She’s life size.”

  The guard chuckled at the comment. When he motioned for Alerio to move on, the Legionary ducked his head and marched back into the rain.

  He followed a gravel path and stopped at the boulevard. After looking up and down the usually busy road, he jogged across. Following the directions, he turned left after three blocks, walked another two blocks, and stopped.

  The statue of Bia, Goddess of Might, Force and Bodily Strength, stood higher than the villa wall behind her. As one of Jupiter’s winged enforcers, her wings spanned more than two arm’s lengths to either side of the Goddess. Alerio now understood the guardsman’s reaction to the life size description. Life size only counted if you were referring to giants.

  Alerio bowed to the Goddess and thanked her for giving him the strength to escape the Insubri. Then he marched across the pavers to the main door and knocked.

  “Your business?” demanded a man through the peep square.

  “I’ve a letter for the Senator,” Alerio stated. “From Centurion Seneca.”

  “Wait right there,” blurted out the man before Alerio could tell him about the Legion dispatches. Moments later, the man’s face appeared in the cutout and he mumbled, “Good, good, you’re still there.”

  The door swung opened and the man waved Alerio through the doorway.

  Chapter – 19 Villa Maximus

  Alerio was directed to a space next to a floor trough. The channel would carry any dripping rainwater away from a mosaic of a hunting scene. On either side of the fine tiles, couches rested against short dividing walls. Glass figurines of Gods and Goddesses, gold plates and porcelain vases lined the tops of the walls.

  “Letter. Hand me the letter,” urged the man who had opened the door. “Quickly. The Senator is busy.”

  Alerio dug into his pack and produced Centurion Seneca’s letter and handed it to the man.

  “There are also…” Alerio began but the man cut him off.

  “Wait here,” the man ordered before he rushed down a hall and disappeared into a room.

  While he waited for the man to come back, Alerio gathered his cloak and squeezed out as much water as he could. The water ran down the trough. As it traveled, shiny inlays shimmered in the bed of the channel. He wondered if the objects would twinkle if the trough was blocked off and flooded.

  The man reappeared at the end of the hallway and beckoned Alerio to come. Dropping the end of the soaked cloak, he marched towards him. At the end of the hallway, the man indicated for the Legionary to enter a room.

  ***

  “What in Discordia’s name is this?” growled a large man sitting behind a desk. He waved a recently unfolded piece of parchment in the air and glared at Alerio.

  Although older and a little thick around the middle, the man maintained enough muscle to present a formidable figure. His hair was gray and cut short as a Legionary would wear it. Alerio had no idea who the man was or what was in the letter. The gray-haired man calling on the Goddess of Strife and Discord gave no clue. So Alerio did what every enlisted soldier does when confronted by a person of importance, he saluted.

  “Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera. 47th Century, Seventh Squad, Gurges Legion,” he announced with a cross chest slam of his fist. “And sir, I have no idea what’s
in the Centurion’s letter.”

  The man glanced down, read a section, and peered at the Legionary over the top edge of the parchment.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera, I am Senator Spurius Carvilius Maximus,” the man stated. “You can call me General Maximus. Seneca was my First Centurion when we beat the Samnites. See that shield?”

  The General pointed to a wall behind Alerio. Turning to look, the Legionary saw a Legion heavy infantry shield that had been cleaved half its height by a sword. Mounted on the walls to either side of the doorway were damaged weapons. A broken javelin, a chipped gladius, as well as tribal implements of war. All showing use during a battle.

  “General that shield is in need of repair,” Alerio observed.

  “Eight years ago, that shield saved my life, Lance Corporal,” related Senator Spurius Carvilius Maximus. “We had the Samnites leaders trapped in their last fort. My third maniple had the honor of the final surge. Then, I did something stupid. Yes, Generals do stupid things. I rode parallel to my lines. I stopped behind the second maniple, ahead of my personal guard, to get a look at the barbarian’s defenses. A unit of Samnites cavalry smashed through and surrounded me. My horse went down and I leaped to the ground drawing my gladius. All I could see was ponies, hairy savages and long swords. I deflected several but something rolled into my legs and I fell. One brute jumped from his mount and ran at me, his sword held high for a killing blow.”

  The Senator reached out and took a gulp from a silver chalice. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he continued.

  “Four thousand heavy infantrymen under my command and I lay like a lamb on an altar,” Maximus described. “The barbarian rushed at me yelling a victory cry. I feebly pointed my blade at him as if he would be kind enough to run himself through and die for me. Three steps from me, he began the kill strike. My world shrank to his thick, hairy forearms and the long, wide sword. It was falling towards my face and there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

  The Senator stood up and walked around his desk. He marched across the room and stood by the damaged shield. Placing a hand on the oiled surface, he spanned the split with his fingers.