Death Caller (Clay Warrior Stories Book 13)

by J. Clifton Slater

  “I will not cross the sea,” Gavia informed Alerio. “But I can sail you to the port at Cagliari on the east coast. There you will find merchants ships aplenty. Some will be heading eastward, I’m sure.”

  Chapter 32 – Funeral Announcement

  Thank you for your understanding at this time. The loss of a son, even an adopted one, is hard on everyone in the Carvilius Maximus households. The lady Aquila, the staff, and I beg your indulgence as we seek solitude to heal.

  To quell errant rumors of his demise, Tribune Sisera went missing during a Legion campaign on Sardinia. Through a selfless act, he saved the men of Second Maniple, Paterculus Legion West. For his sacrifice, the Senate of the Republic has awarded my son a posthumous accommodation for bravery.

  We do request that you pray for our son, Alerio Carvilius. Meeting his demise alone on a battlefield, there were no companions to place coins on his eyes or in his mouth. Without coins to pay Charon, the ferryman, the river Styx is closed to our son. Alerio was resourceful in life and we take solace in knowing he will find a way to be judged. And that the Judges will find him worthy and grant him access to Elysium.

  A funeral procession through the Capital will take place on the Ides of May. The planned route includes courtesy stops at temples adjacent to the forum before ending at the Temple of Nenia, our son’s personal Goddess. Vocal mourning during the procession is appreciated.

  Feasting will follow at the Maximus Villa, attendance by invitation only.

  The Carvilius Maximus family wishes you good health and a long life.

  General Spurius Carvilius Maximus, Citizen and Senator of the Republic

  ***

  Former Centurion Accantus trotted to a group of farmhands working on a drainage ditch. This was his fifth stop and he was running out of daylight.

  “Let’s be sure the sides are tamped down hard,” he instructed. “The last big rain washed two miles of dirt into our irrigation pond.”

  “We are, supervisor,” an old worker assured him.

  Accantus straightened his back and gritted his teeth. His bad hip was reminding him that he had been pushing hard. But he had no choice. The funeral was in three days. The Maximus Farm needed to be running perfectly before he left for the Capital.

  Glancing up at the hills to the east, he saw a hooded man sitting on the crest of the hill.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Accantus complained as he kneed his horse in the man’s direction.

  If highwaymen were planning to attack the farm, he would have to hire a few infantrymen to defend it. The horse made the climb with power and grace. The former Centurion barely held back a yelp of pain as the mount topped the rise.

  “Down there is the Maximus Farm. If you are looking for somewhere to rob?” Accantus threatened while placing a hand on the hilt of his gladius. “You will not enjoy the visit.”

  The sitting man shifted before turning his head.

  “That is not a nice way to speak to a dead man,” Alerio teased. He tossed back the hood and stood. “But I thought up here was part of the farm.”

  “Tribune Sisera, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful,” the farm manager apologized. “The report said...”

  “I can guess what the report states. But it is mistaken, at least as far as the conclusion,” Alerio described. Then he asked. “These hills. Before I left, I had Belen buy the land. This is supposed to be for the Lady Aquila’s vineyard. Imagine my surprise when I found it untouched.”

  “That’s the odd part, Tribune,” Accantus responded by sweeping an arm around to take in the landscape. “I began to clear away the brush and trees when Lady Carvilius came by and ordered me to stop. It seems she sold the land, and we would not be planting grape vines.”

  “She sold the land. Why?” Alerio questioned.

  “Sir, I have no idea,” Accantus admitted. “I was as disappointed as you seem to be. But speaking of disappointed, have you seen the Senator or the Lady. I am sure they will be overjoyed to see that you are alive.”

  “I was headed to the villa at Tusculum,” Alerio replied. He lowered his eyes, dropped his chin, and paused. “But I wanted to feel fresh dirt between my toes and run my hands through it.”

  “Things get rough in Sardinia?” the former combat officer asked. He slid from the saddle and groaned as his feet hit the ground, jarring his bad hip. “Sorry, dumb question. You are presumed killed by a Qart Hadasht army.”

  “There aren’t many individuals killed by an entire army, are there?” Alerio teased.

  “I talked to Gaius Claudius about you, Tribune,” Accantus informed Alerio. “You were in Messina when he crossed over with the advanced Centuries. That was eight years ago. And you have been in the merda ever since. It’s a wonder you don’t want to crawl under the dirt and pull it up over your head.”

  “I’ve watched a lot of good men die,” Alerio replied.

  “Plus, your responsibilities have expanded,” Accantus observed. “Most Legionaries who advance through the ranks to become combat officers do it slowly. Over years. With time to adjust at every level. Not you. You reached Centurion quickly. I am not saying you didn’t deserve it. But from there, you leaped, not just to a staff officer’s commission, you shot up to another level of society. I am surprised you haven’t broken apart like pieces of pottery, Tribune Sisera.”

  “Maybe, I have. Maybe that’s why I haven’t reported to a Legion yet,” Alerio remarked. “I told myself that telling my parents I was alive in person was better than them hearing it from a courier.”

  “It is, but you are justifying the delay,” Accantus pointed out. “That tells me you aren’t really sure of the reason for holding off on telling your parents. Or for reporting to a Legion, for that matter.”

  “Do me a favor,” Alerio begged, “keep this meeting between us a secret.”

  “Of course, Tribune,” Accantus agreed. “But let me ask, will I have to go to the Capital, put on a wax mask of your face, and limp through the streets crying and agonizing about your death?”

  “It’ll get you off the farm for a day or two,” Alerio reminded the supervisor.

  “Tribune Sisera, I’ve been in a lot of situations including places with pig slop up to my chin,” the former Centurion responded. “And, sir, working the Carvilius Maximus farm is among the best of the lot.”

  “I’ll let you know about the parade,” Alerio promised. He took a step towards the hills. “Before you ask, I do not need your horse.”

  “You are a lot like General Maximus,” Accantus offered while rubbing his hip. “You care about your men and pay attention to their needs.”

  Feeling a sense of pride at the comparison, Alerio hiked away heading in a northwest direction.

  ***

  The Carvilius country estate occupied the far side of a hill near the village of Tusculum. To the north, the land fell away in waves of green trees and grazing sheep. Alerio topped the rise and stopped on the road.

  ‘How exactly,’ he thought, ‘does one politely return from the dead?’

  Other large estates bracketed the Carvilius property but compared to the crowding in the Capital, properties at Tusculum provided privacy. It was why when Alerio approached the main gate, no one in the villa saw him.

  “Who is in charge of the guard?” Alerio asked the armed sentry.

  He kept his head down and the hood dangling over his face.

  “Who wants to know?” the former Legionary responded.

  Alerio knew he was former infantry. All of his adopted father’s household men-at-arms had served in the Legion.

  “Let me guess,” Alerio offered by rubbing his chin as if thinking. “You served in the east. I’d say Brindisi.”

  “How would you know that?” the sentry asked.

  “You hold your spear at shoulder height,” Alerio said. “It’s the way Greek hoplites do because their spears are so long. Legion spears are shorter, so we hold them just above the hip. In the east, we adopted a lot of their habits.”
>
  “Optio Affatus is in command,” the sentry told Alerio.

  “I’d like to speak to him, but no, I will not give you a name,” Alerio told the man. “Just tell Civi he is a one note musician.”

  “Runner to the front gate,” the sentry bellowed. “Visitor for Sergeant Affatus.”

  A voice from the side of the villa responded, “His lordship is not receiving.”

  “Go ahead, interrupt Civi’s dinner,” Alerio laughed.

  “Inform the Optio that the visitor said he is a one note musician,” the guard bellowed.

  Alerio stepped back from the gate and waited.

  The horse came at a full gallop and was just slowing when Affatus leaped from its back. Athletic landings are a young man’s trick and certainly not for an old Legion NCO with two bad knees.

  “Who dares use that expression” an enraged Civi demanded as he limped to the gate.

  “He is right outside,” the guard said deflecting the ire.

  “Well, open the gate so I can get my hands on him,” Civi ordered.

  The Optio rushed up to the stranger, grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

  “Number one do not say anything,” Alerio warned from under the hood. “I am not dead. Second, I want to see Lady Carvilius before she hears about me second hand.”

  “Yes, sir,” Civi acknowledged. “The General is out inspecting the herds this afternoon. He does that a lot lately. He misses you, Tribune…”

  “Number one,” Alerio reminded the NCO.

  They walked through the gate and stopped at the Optio’s mount.

  “Take my horse,” Civi offered.

  “At this point it’s probably best,” Alerio said as he vaulted up into the saddle. “Where can I find the Lady Carvilius?”

  “At this time of day, sir, she’ll be on the patio waiting for the stars to rise,” Civi informed him.

  Alerio kneed the mount and rode for the corner of the villa.

  ***

  Aquila Carvilius sat perfectly in the chair. Her back rigid, feet together on the floor, and her head held high. The only thing revealing her emotional state were the red rims around her eyes.

  To her credit as a lady, when the strange horse rode from around the villa and trampled the flower bed, she simply raised a hand and extended a finger. Then her pose to deliver a lecture about invading her evening meditation dissolved and she collapsed.

  Alerio slid off the horse and ran to her side. Gently, he wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulders.

  “I was afraid of something like this,” he mumbled.

  “Since when do apparitions speak?” Aquila questioned.

  “Since when do mothers of Tribunes faint at homecomings,” Alerio teased.

  She touched his face and scowled.

  “You require grooming, young man,” Aquila remarked. “But later. After we have talked, and you explain your absence. And we have a meal together so I can look at you.”

  “All that sounds wonderful,” Alerio admitted. “But I’d rather talk about me with the General present. It’ll save me a long recitation.”

  “That is wise,” Aquila admitted. “But what will we talk about until Spurius returns?”

  “Your vineyard for one,” Alerio questioned. “Why did you sell the land?”

  He expected the astute Lady Carvilius to have a snappy answer. Maybe she wanted a matched set of horses. Or she found an opportunity to purchase another property. He did not expect the bone rattling shiver that racked her body. Or the sobs and tears when he lifted her chin.

  “Please tell me what happened?” he inquired.

  “You tell me why you had to face an army by yourself,” Aquila ordered between sniffles.

  “The First Maniple walked into a trap and parts of the Second Maniple went in to pull the youngsters out,” Alerio described. “I saw the enemy reinforcements coming. After setting guards on the beach, I put on my finest staff officer armor and the red cape you sent me. It was beautiful.”

  “Was beautiful?” Aquila asked.

  “I had to cut it up during my escape…”

  “I don’t care about material,” she said. “Tell me. Tell me. Why you were there?”

  “Because I believed I could make a difference to my men,” Alerio informed her. “And I did. I stood shouting orders to an imaginary Legion until my Maniple, and what was left of the First, got off the battlefield. After that, it got messy.”

  “No one ordered you to attack an army alone?” Aquila demanded. She pushed away his arm, stood, and began to pace. “No Priest of Jupiter instructed you to, to perform that dangerous and insane action?”

  “No, Aquila. It was all my idea,” Alerio assured her. “Now. It’s your turn to tell me, just what is going on?”

  The Lady Carvilius squared her shoulders and looked into Alerio’s eyes.

  “After you left for Sardinia, a Fetial Priest visited me,” she explained. “He said you stole something valuable from him and that I owed him three hundred gold coins to replace the coins you took.”

  “I can assure you, Lady Carvilius, I did not rob a temple or a priest especially a Fetial Priest,” Alerio said defending himself. “Is that why you sold the land?”

  “Fetial Priest Mattia said if I did not pay, he would see that your Maniple would be sent into the most dangerous situations. And that you,” she could not finish as tears filled her eyes and clogged her throat.

  “And you thought I was killed because of something you did?” Alerio questioned her, keeping his voice calm.

  While his voice soothed, at his sides his hands squeezed into fists, and inside he seethed with rage. This grand lady had suffered nights and days of guilt believing she had caused her adopted son’s death.

  “What else did this Priest of Jupiter have to say?” he asked in the same deadly quiet manner.

  “He warned that with a few whispers he could ruin Spurius’ businesses and end his political career,” Aquila reported. “And that with words to the proper buyers, the farm would fail.”

  “Did he threaten your social standing?” Alerio asked.

  “I am so unimportant,” she suggested. “You and Spurius are the important things in my life.”

  “Fetial Priest Mattia of the Jupiter’s Temple,” Alerio mouthed the words as if he was a wolf gnashing his teeth at smelling prey. “But you have one thing wrong, Lady Carvilius.”

  “What is it, Alerio?” she inquired.

  “It’s you that I consider important,” Alerio informed her. “And I will take care of this issue.”

  From inside the villa, Spurius Carvilius Maximus called softly as if he were afraid of what he would find or not find on the patio.

  “Alerio?” the Senator queried.

  “Spurius, get out here,” Aquila Carvilius commanded. “And see who finally found his way home.”

  Spurius Maximus rushed through the door and stopped.

  “I guess the funeral feast is off,” he commented. “But what do I tell Isos Monos? The artist has spent two days creating wax masks of your likeness for the sorrow parade.”

  Then his professional demeanor snapped, and he went to Alerio and the men embraced.

  “General Maximus, this may seem an odd request,” Alerio advised. “But you need to go ahead with the funeral.”

  “I need to do what?” Maximus growled.

  Aquila stepped forward and rested a hand on the Senator’s arm.

  “Spurius, let Alerio explain,” she encouraged.

  Act 9

  Chapter 33 – Wax Masks

  Isos Monos dribbled a bead of wax from the beeswax candle onto the coated cloth. Then, while it was warm and pliable, he smoothed the wax into a ridge with his thumb and forefinger.

  “The hands of an artist,” he declared after lifting his fingers at just the perfect angle, “are his greatest asset.”

  Another bead of wax and he finished shaping the nose of the death mask.

  “How goes the creations?” Optio Civi Affatus i
nquired.

  He marched onto the patio and examined the rows of masks. They resembled Alerio Sisera, down to the scar above his left eye and the one below the eyebrow on his right eye. But the facial lines formed from a veteran’s hard experiences were missing. Without those details, the masks made Alerio seem to be a nobleman’s son without a worry in the world.

  “You do know Tribune Sisera was a Legionary,” Affatus remarked while running a finger across a forehead of wax and paint, “a fighting man.”

  “I am aware of Tribune Sisera’s martial skills,” the Greek artist replied. “But I choose to see beauty where others remember brutal details.”

  “This mask,” Affatus inquired, “is it finished?”

  “Yes. It was the first one. I used the mask as a model,” Isos response. “Please don’t touch the masks.”

  Ignoring the artist, Civi picked up the mask and held it behind his back. With the other hand, he counted the rows.

  “You are two masks short,” Civi offered.

  “No, just one more. There are eleven finished,” Isos explained.

  “No, Greek, I count ten on the table,” Civi insisted.

  “What about the one behind your back?” Isos exclaimed. “You…”

  He stopped talking when Civi drew a Legion dagger.

  “How many masks are on the table?” the Optio inquired while indicating the masks with the steel tip.

  “Ten but…” Isos started to protest.

  “There you go. You are two masks short,” Civi Affatus directed as he backed off the patio and vanished into the villa.

  “The poor man,” Isos pondered while pulling two pieces of cloth off a pile. “He misses Master Sisera so much, he needs a mask of the young man. I can’t fault him that remembrance.”

  The Greek artist dipped one of the pieces into a bowl of warm wax. During the afternoon, he would repeat the process of building up layers until the death mask could be shaped into the likeness of the deceased, Alerio Carvilius Sisera.

  ***

  Civi Affatus rode his mount hard once he left the crowded streets behind and passed through the southern gate. The stone surface gave him a smooth track for the first mile. Then he guided the beast off the paved road and went overland. Three miles southeast of the Capital, he slowed and walked the mount into a clump of trees.