Reluctant Siege

by J. Clifton Slater

  His left blade tapped the knife to the side before sweeping back to slice deeply into the thug’s wrist. The man grabbed the injured limb and ran away from the fight, the gate, his leader and the deadly swordsman.

  The leader swung hard at Alerio’s sword and the Legionary allowed his blade to swerve away. Seeing an opening, the thug leveled his blade and charged. Alerio shifted to let the tip of the thug’s blade pass him. Then he brought his left blade around. The thin belly of Alerio’s sword chopped into the thug’s shoulder, through the shirt, the skin and into the bone.

  The leader of the street thugs arm went numb and he dropped his sword. Without pausing, Alerio ran his right blade across the thug’s throat.

  “My wife is like the goddess, let me tell you why,” Alerio sang as he cleaned his blades on the shirt of the well-dressed thug.

  Standing, he looked around for the last one. The man’s body lay sprawled on the far side of the wagon yard near the corral. Sitting on the fence was a slim woman with her hood thrown back.

  “Alerio Sisera,” she said in greeting. “The manager of the Golden Valley Trading House would like a few words with you.”

  Chapter – 35 Syracuse Trading House

  There were Golden Valley Trading Houses spread throughout the civilized world, as well as, a number of them in large barbarian settlements. Each house traded in luxury merchandise. One of the staples was honey from the Golden Valley. Another service available at the trading houses, if you possessed the coin, was assassination by the Dulce Pugno. Seeing as all managers from the houses were members of the Sweet Fist, there was no way for Alerio to refuse the invitation.

  “Which way?” Alerio asked the woman as he slid the swords into the bedroll.

  “Cavalry on the streets and city guards looking for a man with a beaver petasos and a scar on his head,” she announced. Then indicating the seven dead street thugs, she added. “No crime syndicates seek that man.”

  “If not the street, then how do we reach the trading house?” Alerio asked as he picked up and shouldered his pack.

  She hopped off the fence rail and looked hard at him. “Why did you block the gate?”

  “So none of them escaped,” Alerio replied. “As you noted, no crime syndicates are looking for me.”

  “Truly you are a worthy alley of the Golden Valley,” she acknowledged. “This way.”

  There was a gap between the corral fence and the warehouse. The woman guided them through the gap and around back of the building. At a narrow alleyway, she turned south for two blocks before taking another turn. Soon Alerio was completely lost in the maze of back streets and alleyways of Syracuse.

  The city was much older and a lot bigger than the Republic’s Capital. Its construction differed as well. Where the Capital used clay bricks, Syracusans preferred large and small stone blocks for their buildings and walls.

  After the seemingly endless walk, the woman stopped in an alleyway and opened a door. Alerio entered expecting to find a warehouse attached to the trading house. Rather than organized stacks of quality vino, cheeses, silks, linen, rare fruit and cured meats and, of course, small amphorae of honey, he walked into an open-air room. Boiling pots of water, stinking of urine and lye occupied most of the open area. The rest was taken up by piles of cloth or clothing hung on lines to dry.

  “A laundry?” inquired Alerio.

  “The smell keeps most people away,” the woman said as she strolled across the compound.

  “I can smell why,” commented Alerio as he followed her.

  One of the men stirring a tub of wash cocked his head at the woman. She raised her hand and waved a pattern. Looking closely Alerio noted the knife scars on the man’s arms and one on his cheek. The man was probably a member of the Dulce Pugno which meant he was an assassin. Based on the presence of a Sweet Fist, Alerio figured anyone entering the compound uninvited would not enjoy the hospitality.

  The woman walked through an open doorway and the Legionary followed. Inside the building were tables where other workers folded and bundled the clean clothing and fabric. She ushered Alerio into a storage room and bolted the door.

  Picking up a steel bar, she shoved it behind a box resting against one wall. With a slight twist, the box rolled away from the wall revealing an opening and the top of a ladder.

  “Turn left at the bottom of the ladder,” she ordered. “You will be met.”

  “Thank you. I didn’t get your name,” Alerio said pleasantly as he squeezed around the box to gain access to the ladder.

  “You will be met,” she insisted while ignoring his question.

  ***

  There was little head room and by the time Alerio saw the light in the distance, his back hurt, as did his head where he smacked it against the rough ceiling.

  “Alerio Sisera?” inquired a man standing at the bottom of the ladder holding a lantern.

  “Yes sir,” relied the Legionary. Then he asked, “I don’t suppose you have a name?”

  “You can call me, Milon,” the man said indicating for Alerio to climb the ladder.

  Alerio emerged in a supply room with shelves stacked with jars, amphorae and small polished boxes. He had to navigate another box to clear the ladder. Milon came up and used a bar to move the box back against the wall.

  “My office is down the hall,” he announced as he unbolted the door.

  Alerio recognized the layout of the building from past visits to Golden Valley Trading Houses. A long center hallway ran back to the warehouse. To the front, the direction they walked in, the hall passed rooms before doing a dogleg to a foyer and the front door. Milon opened the last door on the right and waved Alerio into an office.

  ***

  “Please, Alerio Sisera, have a seat,” Milon said as he stepped around a large desk.

  He waited until Alerio began to sit before taking his own chair.

  “I understand you wanted to speak with me,” Alerio ventured. “Or was it just to get an Ally of the Golden Valley out of harm’s way?”

  “Both to be honest,” Milon admitted as he pulled a full coin purse from under the desk. He sat the heavy bag down and gently pushed it across the desktop towards Alerio. “Gilibertus sends his regards.”

  “The Dulce Pugno from Bova Beach,” recalled Alerio picking up the pouch and weighing it in his hand. It was by far heavier than the purse he’d given the wounded assassin. “I take it he made it back to the Golden Valley?”

  “He did. That is your loan repaid with interest,” Milon said. “But it still leaves the scales of trade unbalanced.”

  “I don’t understand,” pleaded Alerio. “Unbalanced?”

  “In the eons the Dulce Pugno have guarded the Golden Valley, never has one of our Sweet Fist been saved by an Ally,” explained Milon. “We are at a loss as how to repay you.”

  “I could use some information,” stated Alerio. “What is the target of the Syracusan army?”

  “Messina. However, the main force will not leave for a month or so,” Milon advised. “The King has sent an advance force. They marched this afternoon. But, information, sanctuary, and aid are due an Ally. What additional request would you ask of us? Riches, someone quietly removed, or a life time supply of luxury items? What can the Golden Valley do to repay you?”

  Alerio let his mind wander. Here was an opportunity with a host of possible benefits. When he spared Gilibertus, he was just doing the honorable thing. Now, the Golden Valley was offering his heart’s delight as repayment and he didn’t have a clue.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera, there is no need to decide at this moment,” Milon assured him.

  The use of Lance Corporal jerked Alerio out of his introspection. How did the assassin know? But the use of his rank and the reminder that he was a Legionary gave Alerio the answer.

  “I want my banishment lifted,” he stated. “I am a soldier of the Republic and if ordered to the Eastern Legion, I would like to sleep peacefully at night.”

  Milon raised both hands and rested th
e fingertips together. His arms were muscular and scarred with long healed blade cuts. Even if Alerio didn’t know before, the healed knife wounds let him know he was dealing with a Dulce Pugno. The assassin closed his eyes and wrinkled his forehead.

  “We’ve never waved a ban on an Ally,” expressed Milon. Then he stopped and opened his eyes. “Gilibertus is my brother. My younger brother to be exact. A promise of life for a life is a good trade. You are welcome to return to the eastern region by the Dulce Pugno of the Golden Valley.”

  His response explained how he knew Alerio’s rank. But there were two other things he needed.

  “I have to get out of the city,” Alerio said. “Can you get me on a ship to Rhégion and put me up for the night?”

  “No ships will row out tomorrow or the day after,” Milon advised. “There are storms headed up from the south. Sanctuary is due without asking.”

  Alerio held out the coin purse before inquiring, “Will you sell me a horse?”

  Milon smiled and said, “You plan to ride across Sicilia in a storm, through the lines of an advancing army?”

  “How big can an advance unit be?” Alerio asked. “And yes, I plan to ride. If you will sell me a horse.”

  “We will loan you a horse and give you a letter for one of our customers at Lentini,” Milton said. “The city is six miles inland at the foot of Mount Etna. If you ride hard, you can change horses there and get ahead of the advance units. They will follow the coast road.”

  “I appreciate your help,” offered Alerio.

  “I will also do the same for a customer in Catania. It’s only nine miles further, but you’ll be riding across the rolling land along the base of the mountain. The horse and you will both be exhausted,” Milon advised. “The ruins of Naxos are twenty-eight more miles and there I am afraid, I can offer no help. You’ll need to rest the horse before the final thirty-one miles to Messina.”

  “You seem to know the route by heart,” Alerio said.

  “We are a trading house for the Golden Valley,” Milon replied. “It’s our business to know. Now, go rest. You have a hard ride ahead of you.”

  Alerio glanced at the doorway. The assassin from the rooftop and the wagon yard stood looking at him.

  “I’ll show you to a room,” she stated while motioning for him to follow her.

  “Thank you Milon,” Alerio said. Then asked as he placed the coin purse in his pack. “One last question. Why did Macario Hicetus say I was one of the muggers?”

  “Because it wasn’t a street robbery,” Milon answered. “Lieutenant Hicetus likes to gamble. He also cheats. Yesterday, he lost a large sum of coin despite the cheating. When he fled without paying, the gamblers commissioned a street gang to take one of his eyes.”

  “But why identify me as one of them?” questioned Alerio.

  “To hide the gambling and loss from his fellow mounted signalmen. He owes coin to almost everyone in his unit and most reputable gambling establishments in Syracuse,” Milton replied. “He claimed it was a robbery. By pointing you out as one of his assailants, he put a face on the criminals. Identifying you deflected attention from his gambling, the real attackers, and the gaming syndicate who hired them.”

  “In short, I was a scapegoat?” ventured Alerio.

  “Yes! Macario Hicetus put all of his sins on you and offered you up as a sacrifice,” Milon agreed.

  The female assassin at the doorway chuckled.

  ‘I’m glad someone finds this amusing,’ Alerio thought as he left Milon’s office.

  Act 6

  Chapter – 36 Leaving Syracuse

  Alerio kept to the shadows outside the trading house’s front gate. With heavy clouds blocking the moon and stars, the only lights were a few lanterns on the streets. Following Milon’s directions, he quickly made his way northward.

  The revelers at the altar, those still awake, were chanting. Filling the air with their voices which mixed with the aroma of roasting sacrificial meat. Alerio approached from between the last buildings. Before he reached the priests and worshipers, he turned eastward and reentered that section of the city.

  As promised by Milon, the guard at the defensive wall ignored the man in the beaver felt hat. Far beyond the gate, a horse whinnied and Alerio was greeted from the dark.

  “Alerio Sisera. You move like a bull on clay tiles,” the female assassin whispered.

  “I move like a Legionary,” Alerio corrected as he marched towards the voice.

  The hooded figure emerged from the dark and the reins of a horse were placed in his hand.

  “Hopefully you can ride better than you sneak,” she offered.

  “All Legionaries can ride,” responded Alerio. “We’re taught in Legion training. As heavy infantrymen, there’s little cause to walk around like a cat stalking a mouse.”

  “Then stomp your way northward until the ruts in the road deepen. That’s where the road splits,” she advised. “Wait for enough light to see the three branches. The left heads west, the right follows the coast, and the center is the road for you.”

  As she spoke, Alerio rubbed a spot between the horse’s eyes. When he stopped, the animal moved closer and nudged him in the chest for another round.

  “Thank you for your help,” Alerio said but the night was empty. The assassin already faded silently into the darkness.

  ***

  The sun didn’t rise or so it seemed to Alerio. Instead, a soft light lit the clouds like a candle’s flame behind a silk screen. When the three routes became visible, Alerio mounted the horse and trotted off on the road running to the northwest.

  Miles later when the horse showed signs of tiring, Alerio dismounted and walked. As a Legionary, he was accustomed to long marches. The road began to climb and after miles of walking and riding, he stopped to let the horse graze while he rested and ate a meal of cheese, bread and olives. Somewhere on the coastal route, the advance units of the Syracusan army also marched and rested.

  Although not steep, the road elevation rose consistently. He continued alternating between walking and riding to keep both of them fresh. The land transformed from trees and natural grass to cultivated fields where the road flattened. By late afternoon, the sunlight hadn’t strengthened, in fact, the clouds grew heavier during the day and it became darker. The storm mentioned by Milon was approaching. Alerio imagined the seas to the south of Syracuse being too rough for ships to leave the harbor. And probably had been since early morning.

  Chapter – 37 Through Lentini to Catania

  Set in the middle of farmland as far as Alerio could see, Lentini resembled the collective village near his father’s farm. Except, Lentini was much bigger. The town had streets of housing, craftsmen compounds, multiple storage buildings for the harvest, and designated wagon yards to hold vehicles for transporting the grain. One prevailing feature of the landscape was the stone walls made by farmers from the rocks they dug up when tilling the soil.

  The buildings were constructed of rocks, wood and rough clay bricks. Alerio marveled at the difference between the uniformed bricks crafted by workers in the Republic and the haphazard clay blocks made for Lentini.

  He rode onto the main street ignored by the people. They were too busy rushing around closing shutters and checking rails on corrals to be sure the animals were secure during the approaching storm.

  After locating Milon’s customer, he traded the horse for a mountain pony and settled down to a meal. Later in a spare room, as he unstrapped the bedroll, thunder cracked, lighting streaked across the sky and rain began to fall.

  ***

  No one was on the street as a lone rider and the mountain pony left Lentini. Rainwater rolled off the bedroll cover but some moisture found creases and the rider and pony were soon drenched. Between the rain, heavy clouds, and a hidden sunrise, they took the muddy northeast road in the dark. It wouldn’t get much lighter as they ascended the mud and rock track towards the coast of Sicilia.

  Alerio understood the need for a pony when the trai
l rose through a section of the black rocks with the holes and crevasses. Footing was difficult even during the times he walked to give the animal relief. As the land fell and the riding became easier, the trip didn’t. Chilled from the rain and huddled as best he could under the oiled goatskin cover, Alerio’s only comfort was the knowledge the Syracusans were also marching through the downpour.

  Nine hard miles and half a day later, the low walls of Catania materialized from the driving rain. Alerio dismounted and walked into the town. He had to bang on several doors before getting directions to Milon’s customer. There he received a hot meal and bad news. A unit of Syracusan cavalry had passed through the evening before. Even knowing his route would overtake the mounted patrol, he climbed on the horse. While still damp and chilled, he rode out of Catania.

  Chapter – 37 Between Naxos and Hades, the Cavalry

  Either the clouds were getting thicker or the sun was going down. In either case, the light on the muddy road was fading. Crossed wagon wheel ruts, rain filled holes, and high spots became harder to see. After the horse stumbled for a third time, Alerio dismounted.

  His world closed down to his feet splashing mud, his legs lifting and lowering, and the limited view provided from under the oiled cover. There were miles to go, rain coming down in buckets and only the breathing of the horse to compete with the drone of the rain. Despite the difficult conditions, Alerio slogged forward.

  Training can be useful unless it teaches you to shut down your mind to endure long marches. In the Legion, you traveled in your Century so letting your mind drift as your body performed was not dangerous. Alerio was traveling alone. Allowing his awareness to close down proved costly.

  ***

  The land on either side of the road changed. On one side trees crowded the muddy track, while on the other a grassy field stretched into the gloom of the fading light and the pouring rain. Alerio marched stoically into the rain while the horse walked behind him.