“Centurion Megellus. Consul/General Otacilius Crassus requests your attendance for a conference in Syracuse,” the young Tribune announced.
He spoke to the backs of three men who were bent over a drawing. When three heads looked around and three pairs of hard eyes locked on him, the young nobleman felt a chill flash through his body.
“I’m Centurion Megellus. When?”
“You are further directed to bring an aide. The orders specify, an infantryman of your choosing.”
“When?” Fenoris demanded.
“Sunrise, at the number three gate,” the young staff officer answered. “Do you require directions, Centurion?”
One of the men extended a finger and placed it on the drawing.
“No, Tribune. I will be there at dawn,” Megellus assured him. Then he returned to the map of Syracuse’s defensive wall and studied it. “Corporal Sisera. You will attend me at the meeting. Afterward, I want a complete accounting of their defensives on the other side of the wall.”
“Yes, sir,” Alerio acknowledged.
“It could be a trap, sir,” Optio Gustavi suggested.
“Another reason to take Sisera,” advised the officer. “Tesserarius. Before the Syracusans capture the General and his staff, search for an escape route.”
“Yes, sir. I can do that,” Alerio responded. “There’s a swamp on the northwest side of the city. If we can make that, we can hide until dark.”
“Corporal Sisera, I was joking,” the Centurion offered.
“I wasn’t, sir.”
The messenger backed away while the intense officer and his serious NCOs went back to analyzing the city’s defensive wall.
***
In the distance, four men stood around a campfire. While the firelight didn’t travel far, it did illuminate the pebbled surface of a road. Once the eyes picked the road out of the darkness, they readily followed the surface to where it vanished under the planks of a gate.
“We’re not the first to arrive,” Alerio pointed out.
“I can see that,” Megellus replied. “Are aides supposed to offer opinions?”
“This one does, sir.”
“That’s fine when we’re alone, but follow the lead of the others when we’re with the General.”
Before they reached the campfire, the crunch of hobnailed boots on pebbles alerted the four men. The two aids separated and took up defensive positions on either side of the fire.
“Senior Tribune, good morning, sir,” Megellus greeted the only face he could make out in the flickering light.
“Centurion Fenoris Megellus, may I introduce Consul/General Otacilius Crassus,” Nictavi said with a salute to the man beside him.
“Good day, General,” Megellus offered. “If I may ask, why am I here, sir?”
“After reading the reports from Adrano and speaking to Colonel Bacaris, I decided I wanted your opinion of the Syracusan defenses,” Otacilius Crassus replied.
Megellus laughed then attempted to cover his mouth to stifle the chuckles.
“Is something funny, Centurion?” questioned Nictavi.
“I apologize to you General and to you Senior Tribune. It’s just that I brought Corporal Sisera along to study the defenses,” Fenoris informed them. “I’ve been teaching him map drawing. He’s coming along nicely with his scale, perception, and shading.”
“Are you an artist then?” inquired General Crassus.
Megellus drew back his shoulders and puffed out his chest.
“I sir, am a Legion officer. The proud Centurion of 25th Century,” Fenoris answered. “Nothing more and nothing less, General.”
“Good. I look forward to seeing your Corporal’s drawing,” Crassus commented.
A board banged on the far side of the gate before it swung open. Torches lined the road from inside the gate to a large tent. A uniformed man marched between the lights and stopped at the portal.
“I am Captain Lith, commander of the King’s guard,” the man standing in the shadows stated. “Representatives of the Republic, follow me.”
He performed a crisp turnabout and marched away.
“Into the hands of Adiona,” offered a familiar voice.
“And so, we send our prayers to the Goddess of Safe Returns,” Megellus added. “Good morning, 1st Centurion.”
“For now, I am simply the aide for General Crassus,” Lichenis advised. “You might remember Centurion Quadantenus from the 8th Century. He is the acting aide for the Senior Tribune.”
“I recall hearing from my Century about an unpleasant evening with Centurion Quadantenus’ men.”
“I hope you’ll let bygones be bygones,” the infantry officer from the 8th Century recommended.
“Gentlemen, let’s not keep the King waiting,” Crassus suggested as he began strolling towards the gate.
The Senior Tribune fell in beside the General, Lichenis and Quadantenus moved up close to them leaving Centurion Megellus and Alerio bringing up the rear. Once the delegation cleared the gateway, the door slammed shut and the locking braces dropped into place.
“Your thoughts, Corporal,” Fenoris inquired in a low voice.
“This can only go one of two ways, sir,” Alerio whispered. “There are too many soldiers staged in the dark for other choices.”
“What ways?”
“Talk or die,” Alerio offered.
***
Captain Lith waited in front of the tent flaps for a large cloth structure. When General Crassus reached the entrance, the flaps were thrown back to reveal a banquet on a long table.
Alerio peered between the senior men’s shoulders.
“Eat. I hadn’t thought of food before dying,” he mumbled. “At least we won’t go hungry.”
“Corporal Sisera, shut up,” Fenoris hissed.
“Centurion Megellus. If you can’t control your aide, maybe it’s best if he waits outside,” Nictavi instructed. “These are serious negotiations. I will not have them thrown off course by a mere Corporal.”
“That’s fine with me sirs,” Alerio offered. “I don’t care much for fancy talk. But do you think I can have a taste of lamb before I’m ousted?”
“Keep your mouth closed, Tesserarius,” pleaded his officer.
“Can I have just a few pieces of meat before I’m exiled?” Alerio asked.
“That does it,” growled the Senior Tribune. “Corporal Sisera, you will remain outside and no food will be sent to you. Move aside.”
“I apologize for my aide’s behavior, sir,” offered Megellus.
Alerio stepped to the side while the delegation continued into the tent. Delicious aromas drifted out before the tent flaps closed.
“Captain Lith. Would your soldiers have any camp stew available?” inquired Alerio. “I seem to have missed breakfast.”
“You are an undisciplined oaf with the manners of a goat,” the Syracusan Captain stated. “Your officers want you hungry. Then so shall it be.”
Alerio leaned against the fabric of the tent and grinned.
“Do you want me to just stand here?”
The Captain of the King’s guard bristled, reached out, grabbed the Legionary’s shoulder and shoved him towards a campfire, about twenty paces from the tent.
“You act like a pack animal then you should be with the animal handlers,” Lith directed. “Go sit with your betters.”
Alerio allowed the toes of his boots to drag as if he was too lazy to pick up his feet. And he kept his head and his eyes down to show he was uninterested in his surroundings. The officer and the handpicked soldiers of the guard watched the insolent man walk away.
“If that’s the best they can do,” suggested one of Lith’s soldiers. “Then Syracuse has nothing to worry about from the Republic.”
“It’s actually a little disappointing,” the Captain replied. “Be sure none of the Legion officers leave the tent and begin analyzing our defenses. I’m going around front to meet the King.”
“Yes, sir,” the soldier replied<
br />
***
Alerio arrived at the campfire and was ignored by three disinterested handlers. Animal wranglers and wagon drivers didn’t have much power or authority in the city’s military. As such, the opportunity to abuse a Legionary came as a pleasant distraction.
“Sit downwind of me, dog,” one said. He added a bark then clarified. “I don’t want to smell you.”
Alerio lifted an arm and extended a finger. He spun it in the air as if testing for wind.
“Got it,” he announced. The Legion NCO shuffled around until he was downwind of a gentle morning breeze. As he moved, Alerio reached into a pouch and pulled out a small wineskin. “I stole this from a nobleman’s tent and can’t decide if it’s good vino or not.”
“Pass it over,” a wrangler offered. “I’ll let you know if it’s a good wine.”
Alerio took a short stream and passed the skin to the man. With a smirk on his face, the animal handler lifted the wineskin and allowed a few drops to drip into his mouth. He swished it around his cheeks, swallowed, then he squeezed the wineskin hard.
“Hold on there,” demanded another handler. “Let me try the wine before you drink it all.”
He took the wineskin, did the drip test before taking a mouthful that overflowed and drizzled down his beard.
“That is good wine,” the wrangler announced. He shook the empty wineskin. “It’s a shame you don’t have more.”
The third handler’s shoulders drooped in disappointment and he focused on stirring the food cooking in an iron pot.
“Oh, that’s not a problem,” Alerio stated. He reached into the pouch and lifted out two more of the small wineskins. “I took three. The rich man won’t miss them. I hope.”
The three wranglers laughed at the idea of stealing from the wealthy. And the possibility of the thief getting caught and punished only added to their pleasure. When you spend your days getting mistreated by soldiers and working with stubborn animals, any diversion was welcome.
“Bring those wineskins over here and have some stew,” the third animal handler offered. “We have plenty.”
***
The sun rose over Syracuse and details of the city’s defenses became apparent. But over the shrubs and bushes around the animal handler’s camp, only a small section of the wall, the archers’ walkway and a gate, were visible.
“My mother pointed out the bird she wanted butchered for dinner. He was old, useless, and ate the other bird’s grain. Three times I chased that dumb bird around the bird pens,” Alerio related a story to the handlers. “On the fourth trip, the stupid bird appeared. He came from the other direction running directly at me. He must have gotten turned around. With one chop of the ax, I killed the old bird. As proud as any hunter, I held the carcass up for my mother to see. With an odd look on her face, she pointed to the top of the pens. Sitting up there was the ancient bird. I had killed one of the young ones.”
“Old and clever,” a handler agreed. “We see it all the time. The ones we think are dumb and won’t work, are just sly and sneaky.”
“I know Legionaries like that,” Alerio offered. “I might be one of them.”
The handlers chuckled and one declared, “You’re too young to be old and devious.”
“Speaking of devious, my officer has a horse that seems to go limp occasionally at the walk,” Alerio said. “She trots fine or when turned out to pasture. Otherwise, the animal seems okay. We can’t figure out if she’s faking the injury or has a problem.”
“That’s easy enough to check,” a wrangler explained. “You’ll want to grab the long neck muscles in the front. Rub them up and down. One will likely cause the horse to flinch.”
“And that’s the problem?” questioned Alerio.
“No. that will tell you which side has the problem,” another of the handlers chimed in. “With that knowledge, you’ll know which side of the sternum muscle to knead and massage to give the animal relief.”
“And help it heal,” another offered.
“Back up a couple of steps,” begged the Legionary. “There is a sternum muscle? I thought that was a bone.”
“In humans, yes. But on a horse, the pectoral muscles are closer together and wrap the sternum.”
Alerio poked himself if the center of his chest. Tapping with his fingers, he started at his neck and worked his fingers down to his stomach.
“I don’t understand,” he pleaded. “All I feel is bone.”
“Come with me. Our draft horses are just around these bushes,” a handler informed him. “I’ll show you.”
“Thank you,” Alerio expressed his gratitude with a bow. “That will be very helpful.”
***
Four horses were hobbled. And not too far away, two empty wagons sat in the grass just off a road.
“We unloaded the tent, table, and dining equipment then moved the transports over here,” the handler explained. At one of the horses, he wrapped his fingers around the long front neck muscle. “You can see the horse makes no sudden move away from any pain or discomfort. That’s because the horse is healthy.”
While the wrangler manipulated the muscle, Alerio leaned over being sure his shoulder touched the man’s back.
“I see what you’re doing,” the Legion Corporal uttered. “How much of the muscle are you feeling?”
The handler, recognizing a willing student, began a long explanation while working his hands up and down the muscle. But, Alerio was a farm lad and grew up around horses and other animals. From a young age, he assisted his father in treating a variety of animal injuries.
While the animal handler talked, Alerio raised his head and studied the Syracusan defenses. From the vantage point in the open field, he perused a long section of the wall and the location and number of ramps leading up to the archery walkway. Then, he scanned the weapons’ platforms with the oxybeles and lithobolois and mentally positioned them in relationship with the gates. Finally, he identified the positioning of the onagers and counted tents in the camp of the soldiers assigned to defend this area of the wall.
“I see,” Alerio commented. He reached around and clumsily squeezed the horse’s sternum muscle. “Oh, I feel the muscle. Are you sure it’s a sternum?”
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” questioned the wrangler. “Come on, we better get you back to our camp.”
The two men leaned away from the horse’s chest. As they began walking back to the handler’s camp, the top of the King’s tent was visible over the bushes.
“You there,” a voice challenged.
Slowly, Alerio turned towards the speaker and bowed.
Standing not far away was the oxybele engineer Alerio had captured in Adreno, use to kill General Periander, and then had a Veles escort out of the besieged city. The man wore the rank of an officer in the Syracusan army.
“Lieutenant of Artillery, good day, sir,” Alerio greeted him. “Any chance of you returning the favor?”
Chapter 36 – Expulsion & Absolution
“Consul Crassus. Surely, you realize that you cannot do a total siege of Syracuse,” Hiero II stated. He raised a ceramic mug and took a sip of wine. “The southern portion of my city is shoreline and docks. Resupplying my people is not a problem. Also, I have sent a message to the Qart Hadasht Capital asking for their terms to help me.”
Consul/General Otacilius Crassus sat across a small table from King Hiero. Senior Tribune Nictavi occupied a chair slightly behind the General and off to the side. Mirroring his position, an advisor to the King sat within an arms distance of his ruler.
1st Centurion Lichenis, Centurions Megellus, and Quadantenus were on one side of the tent and Captain Lith and four guards occupied the other.
“We will not lay siege to Syracuse expecting to starve you out. Or, to pressure you to surrender,” Crassus informed the King. “Long before the concept of attrition comes into play, my Legionaries will come through your walls. Once in, we will defeat your military, take what we want, and sell your people into sla
very.”
“That’s bold talk from a man whose army is outside my walls,” observed the King.
“It’s not bravado. The Legions have done it before,” Crassus replied. “And King Hiero, we have the will to do it again.”
Something in the General’s tone irritated Hiero. He turned and consulted with his advisor. While the Syracusans talked, the swoosh of a tent flap being opened cause Captain Lith to march to the entrance. After a conference with a Lieutenant, he left the tent.
“Your Legions laid siege to Centuripe and Adrano,” Hiero remarked after the consultation. “Yet, each situation ended differently. Why?”
“Centuripe has high walls and a large army,” replied General Crassus. “As you know, they have clashed with your forces many times over the years. However, it wasn’t the strength of their army that brought about the result. Their council showed wisdom and decided the best approach was a treaty with the Republic.”
“And what tribute did they pay for the pleasure of living under the Republic’s boot?”
The General leaned over and consulted with the Senior Tribune. Moments later, he smiled and held out both arms as if pouring something out onto the table top.
“None, King Hiero. There was no demand for Centuripe to pay a tribute to the Republic,” Crassus informed him. “Good business and common sense prevailed over becoming a spoil of war.”
“And that brings us to Adrano,” Hiero remarked. “The city sits...”
His advisor tapped Hiero on the arm and the King stopped talking and listened for several heartbeats.
“I am corrected. The city of Adrano sat at the top of a high slope,” Hiero described. “A high wall protected them as did a well-trained militia. Additionally, they employed professionally manned oxybeles, lithobolois, and onagers.”
“And, my Legion walked through their bolts, arrows, and stones. We entered the main gate and defeated the militia,” Crassus bragged. “Then, after selling the population for a mighty profit, we dismantled the city because we could. Yet across the Symaethus Valley, Centuripe thrives.”
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