Death Caller (Clay Warrior Stories Book 13)

by J. Clifton Slater

  “I stood with Consul Gaius Duilius on the decks of warships at the Battle of Mylae,” the masked figure boomed as if he was Alerio Sisera. “On the day he won the battle and removed these bronze fins from a Qart Hadasht ram, the General awarded me two Naval Crowns for bravery.”

  The man masked in the Alerio Sisera facsimile rapped on the fins with his knuckles. And the eleven masks on the street wept in loud sobs at the loss of such a stalwart fellow.

  “A brave man who holds the Republic dear is lost in Hades,” the man boomed while raising a fist in victory. “Gods, show a hero the way to the Elysian Fields.”

  Sobbing and shoulder shaking racked the eleven men on the ground. Their suffering mimicked an honorable man who was lost in the wilderness.

  The speaker climbed down and joined the other masked men. After everyone consumed a quantity of vino, Senator Maximus marched to the left heading for the Temple of Vesta. The funeral procession trailed out behind him as they followed.

  ***

  Almost as if his hands were millipedes, Alerio used his fingers to walk the sides, propelling himself along the pipe. Moving slowly, he held his breath. But with each passing moment, he became more aware of the tight space, the darkness, and the lack of anywhere to get air.

  Spots appeared in his vision despite the fact his eyelids were clamped shut. Crawling and resisting the urge to inhale, Alerio fought the panic and continued to wiggle-walk with his fingers while kicking with his legs.

  Then two small hands gripped his wrists and yanked him free of the suffocating tube. He popped out but got confused. Thrashing around wildly, Alerio searched for relief.

  A hand grabbed the growth on his chin and jerked his head up. His face felt warmth and his lungs filled with air.

  “Well, that was entertaining,” he gasped.

  “Keep your voice down, Tribune,” Ephyra warned. “We are in the aeration channel.”

  Alerio opened his eyes to see the tops of an artificial trench. Not only was the opening wide enough to allow sunlight to reach the water, he could hear voices.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “Above the second floor of the apartment building for the Priests of Jupiter,” Ephyra informed him. “The voices you hear are coming from the rear suite.”

  “Mattia?” he asked.

  “No, sir. Your target lives in the front of the building,” she told him.

  “How do I get there?” Alerio questioned.

  “When I get back, you’ll walk,” Ephyra stated.

  “Just like that? I’ll walk?” Alerio asked. “How?”

  “I won’t know until I get back,” the young assassin stated.

  Then she climbed to the top of the trench. After pausing for a moment, she vanished over the side.

  Alerio could face down an army or fight multiple enemies. In both cases, he had a semblance of control. Laying in a wide-open channel, waiting for a future killer to return, placed him at the mercy of the fates. And to add to his problem, Alerio was hungry.

  ***

  The funeral procession formed a half circle at the steps to the Temple of Vesta. Waiting at the top, a Vestal Virgin stood holding a tray.

  “As you do with the eternal flame, I defended the Republic with my gladius,” a masked figure informed the Priestess. He talked as he climbed. “My family I held close to my heart. And just as resolutely, I held my blade near my enemy’s throat. But now I am tired and need the help of the Goddess of the Hearth.”

  “Take this cake as a remembrance of the homes and hearths that you defended,” the Priestess called to the procession. But she held the tray just out of his reach. Only when the man in the Alerio mask passed her a coin did she hand him the cake. “Know, your life of defending our city is recognized. The Goddess Vesta will help you in the afterlife.”

  The eleven masked men on the ground wept and called blessings to Vesta. When the man with the cake descended the steps, wineskins were passed around.

  Spurius Maximus walked the forum in a northern direction heading to the center of Rome. The funeral procession fell into his wake.

  ***

  Ephyra’s face appeared over the lip of the rim and she smiled. Alerio glared at her from the bottom of the pond.

  “What is so funny?” he demanded.

  “I was beginning to believe, Master, that escorting was harder than a simple kill,” she replied.

  The easy talk of taking a life from a young person troubled Alerio. Then he thought of his own life and realized the only difference between a swordsman and an assassin was the beginning of the fight. In the end, both freed souls and left bodies to rot.

  “Was beginning to believe?” he questioned after shaking off the morose comparison of murderers. “What changed?”

  “Follow me,” she instructed.

  Ephyra disappeared and Alerio climbed to the top of the open tank. He caught sight of her as she vanished into a square access hatch in the building. Below him, a gravel path meandered through hedgerows and grassy expanses with tables. At the tables sat Priests of Jupiter talking or studying scrolls. If any glanced up, he would be discovered. Quickly, Alerio crawled through the opening and fell five feet to the tile floor.

  “Ummah,” he coughed as the air was driven from his lungs.

  “I take it back,” Ephyra complained. “Killing is easier than escorting a great lumbering beast.”

  “That’s not very respectful,” Alerio pointed out as he scrambled to his feet.

  She laughed and for a moment, Ephyra appeared to be just a young girl enjoying a joke.

  “If you think that is disrespectful,” she cautioned. “Wait until you see the disguise, I found for you.”

  ***

  The funeral processions circled a granite mushroom cap. Set in the center of the forum, the marker stood out among the surrounding clay brick pavers.

  “I have traveled far in the service of the Republic,” a masked man declared as he leaped to the top of the cap. “From here, the navel of the Capital, my journeys have taken me to Greece, Etruria, Sicilia, and Sardinia. Plus, duty has directed me to the north, south, east, and west of our Republic.”

  Groans of pain, as if the Alerio stand-ins were exhausted and disheartened, carried to the people near the monument. Citizens and slaves traveling by the Umbilicus Urbis paid little attention to the funeral parade. It was an almost everyday occurrence at the zero-mile marker for all roads leading to Rome.

  “But in the end, at the terminus of my life’s journey,” the masked man shouted, “I return to the Capital, to the marker, only in spirit. Terminus, God of Boundaries, guide me in the afterlife.”

  Calls begging the God to assist Alerio arose from the twelve. The speaker dropped to the pavers and everyone drank vino. Finally, Spurius Maximus steered the procession to the Temple of Concordia.

  ***

  Bent forward as if ashamed and forbidden to make eye contact, Alerio wheeled the small cart down the hallway. No one he passed looked at the slave in the smock or at the contents of the buckets in the cart.

  “I’ll meet you downstairs, if you live that long,” Ephyra had said before vanishing into an empty apartment. Then from the doorway, the young assassin advised. “Oh no, it stinks. You need to start in here.”

  And Alerio did. The chamber pot with the Priest’s issuing’s from last night sat just inside the apartment. Tribune Sisera had been around Legionaries and latrines since he was a young teen. And he recognized that the priest who lived here had stomach and bowel troubles.

  ‘At this rate,’ Alerio pondered, ‘by the time I reach Mattia’s apartment, I’ll have a bucket full of merda. Its watery enough, if we can’t reach an agreement, I could drown the Fetial Priest in it.’

  Finished in that apartment, he rolled the buckets to the hallways, moved to the next suite, and knocked.

  ***

  In the garden of Concordia’s Temple, a fountain splashed water onto rocks. The musical sound added to the peaceful environment. And rathe
r than the loud expressions of grief, the twelve mourners of the procession kept their outbursts at a respectful level.

  “Goddess of Social Agreement, in all my days, I kept my word and honored all contracts,” the masked man explained while passing a priest some coins. “But now I am lost with no direction. I seek only to reach my final place. A location where I can once again fit into a culture and be a good citizen.”

  “The Goddess Concordia hears your pleas,” the priest announced. “She offers her hand and will walk with you for a distance.”

  Soft sobs accompanied the announcement. The masked men strolled from the garden, left the temple grounds, and headed uphill to the Temple of Saturn.

  Masks were lifted and streams of vino flowed as they walked. Honoring the dead as a participant in a funeral procession, required a lot of vino to keep the throats of the mourners from going dry.

  ***

  Alerio rapped on yet another door. It opened and the priest using his foot pushed the pot to the doorway. After dumping the content in one bucket, Alerio used a brush and rinsed the chamber pot before placing it over the threshold. As he wheeled the cart away, a vision of the worst depth of Hades flashed through his mind. What if the terror in the pits of Tartarus was an endless row of night soil pots that required emptying? He shivered at the thought.

  As he moved to the next door, Alerio noted two things. A stairwell to the ground floor in the middle of the building, and at the far end of the corridor, a guard. He now had a location for Fetial Mattia. But that presented its own problems. How to get into the apartment unobserved? And out undetected?

  At the next residence where someone did not answer, Alerio opened the door and entered the suite. The building served as housing for Priests of Jupiter, and no locks were required. Obviously, for important Priests such as Mattia, a guard fulfilled the duty.

  Inside, Alerio searched the walls looking to see if there was a connection between apartments. While he looked for a way into the adjoining unit, he began to the process of emptying and washing the pot. The last thing he wanted was a returning priest challenging him for skipping a residence.

  He picked up the pot and an insufferable stink assaulted his nose. In a reflex action, he tossed his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. This priest needed to eat more fruits and vegetables. Then he opened his eyes and saw the means to complete his stealth insertion.

  ***

  The Priests of Saturn came out in twos to greet the funeral procession.

  “I plowed, sowed, and reaped so citizens could eat,” another of the masked procession declared. “As any good farmer does, I turned the land green under my tillage, and the land gave us back nourishment. Saturn, God of Agriculture, place my feet on the fertile path to my destination.”

  Spurius Maximus walked down the line of Priests handing each a coin.

  “Great Saturn hears you,” a cleric assured the speaker. “The path will reveal itself to your spirit to hasten your journey.”

  The twelve men bellowed their pain so everyone within hearing range could feel the anguish. Then, led by the Senator, the funeral procession left the Temple of Saturn, crossed the toe of Capitoline Hill, and started up the winding road.

  Spurius Maximus took an extra long stream of vino. So far, the smaller temples had been cheap. But Saturn was a major God. With Saturnalia a massive winter celebration, the Priest of Saturn knew their importance. It was why they came out in force looking for offerings.

  “Alerio, my son,” Maximus mumbled so no one could hear, “I hope you know what you are doing. Because this funeral procession is getting expensive.”

  Act 10

  Chapter 35 - The Capitoline Triad

  Once beyond the stairwell, Alerio rolled the cart carefully down the hallway. Sticking close to the wall, he remained out of sight from the guard at Mattia’s apartment. Two units away from the residence, Alerio rapped on the door and waited for a response. When none came, he opened the door and wheeled his slop and rinse buckets into the apartment.

  Just as the others he investigated, the suite consisted of a large outer room with couches and tables. Off a short hallway, an office took up one side and a changing room occupied the other. In the back of the apartment, a large room had a seating area for relaxed reading and a bed.

  Not bad living accommodations but not villa nice or near as spacious. After seeing the apartments, Alerio knew why Mattia wanted a country estate at Malagrotta. The last thought brought up a puzzle.

  Why did Fetial Priest Mattia think Alerio had stolen from him? If anyone damaged the country estate, it was an angry Colonel Claudius and the Legion. Alerio was nowhere in the vicinity of the fake armory when the Centuries arrived.

  ***

  The climb up Capitoline Hill made the funeral procession thirsty. In front of the gates to the Temple of Juno, they paused to catch their breath and sip vino. Several took the opportunity to nurse sore knees or hips.

  “Love is what I felt when I defended women and children,” another imitation Alerio Sisera professed. “And it is what I held in my heart for my Legionaries in the last moments of my life.”

  He handed the Priest of Juno an offering.

  “The Goddess of Love and Marriage recognizes the heart of this man,” the cleric declared as he placed the coins in a pouch. “His spirit will travel surrounded by a cloud of love as he journeys through Hades.”

  The Priest’s words brought howling and sobbing from the twelve masked men. After another round of vino, the procession pushed the Senator in the direction of the Shrine of Minerva.

  ***

  Five hundred feet away from the funeral procession, the real Alerio Sisera pulled a table under the access hatch. He mounted the tabletop, reached up, and shoved aside a piece of board. The cover moved easily.

  “How convenient the Temple can afford the best construction,” Alerio said. “If this was a farmhouse there wouldn’t be any crawl space.”

  Alerio pulled himself up through the hole and onto the ceiling joists. After replacing the cover, the Tribune got on his hands and knees and edged towards Mattia’s apartment.

  Tedious and slow, he ducked under roof rafters while carefully placing his hands and knees on the ceiling boards. If he misstepped or placed his hand incorrectly, he would fall through the ceiling. Ending up on the floor of the apartment below was not part of the plan.

  Alerio reached the next access hole, discounted it, and moved forward. The hatch led to the neighboring unit and not to Alerio’s target.

  Near the end of the building, he located the last hatch. Shifting to the least uncomfortable position, Alerio slid the cover two fingers off center. Bending down, he put an eye to the opening and studied the room below.

  Rather than a bedroom, it was an office and, luckily, an empty workspace. Did the last suite in the building have an entirely different configuration? The thought forced Alerio to hesitate.

  Although he was making up the mission as he went, knowledge of the layout gave him confidence. With a different floor plan for Mattia’s unit, he needed to think for a moment.

  It would do no good dropping in on a conference or a luncheon engagement if there was a separate dining room. But he had come so far and allowed his adopted father to carry out the sham funeral procession, Alerio had no choice. He slid the cover all the way over, dropped his legs through the opening, and lowered himself to the desktop.

  “How thoughtful,” Alerio offered as his feet touched the desk.

  Then from another area, he heard a man chuckle. Except, the voice echoed. None of the apartments Alerio visited were large enough to create an echo. Sneaking to the doorway, he chanced a glance down a hallway.

  After double checking, Alerio left the cover of the doorframe and ran down a hallway towards the other room.

  ***

  Possibly due to the emotional overload and aided by the vino, the dozen men wearing Alerio masks were getting sloppier at every stop. By the time they staggered to the Shrine of Minerva, the
twelve were howling in full voice.

  “Hush,” the one selected to speak for Alerio’s spirit at the shrine yelled. “I said, shut your stew holes!”

  As the speaker was a former Legion NCO with two bad knees and a temper, the other eleven mourners went silent. Then the speaker straightened his shoulders and gazed at the statue of the Goddess who Protects Defenses during War and Promotes Art and Wisdom

  “That’s better. Now, where was I?” Civi asked.

  “You are Alerio Sisera,” one of the other mask wearers directed the former Optio. He indicated the other masks looking up at him. “Now say something profound.”

  “What in Hades name does that mean?” Civi barked. “I’ve stood on walls defending my men and the Republic. Good men fell and good men took their place. As long as there are brave men, the Republic will survive.”

  Another man from the procession stepped up and dropped a coin into the hand of the Priest.

  “No evil will reach you as you travel the underworld,” the cleric stated. “For the Goddess Minerva will defend her brave Legionary on every step of your journey.”

  Civi stumbled off the steps and fell into the arms of the other eleven.

  “Onward to the Temple of Jupiter,” someone bellowed. Then, remembering the reason they were parading around in masks, he called out. “Everybody, cry!”

  The twelve wept and sobbed as they migrated to the gate at the Temple of Jupiter.

  ***

  Alerio Sisera sprinted several steps to cover the distance quickly. Then had to shuffle his feet to keep from running by his target. Leaning to the side, he hooked the man sitting on the blanket to slow down. Even with the weight of the priest acting as an anchor, he moved a couple of steps beyond the blanket. Once stationary, Alerio lifted Mattia off the floor.

  If the man had been napping or reading it might have been normal. But Fetial Priest Mattia sat on the blanket running his fingers through coins. Almost as if bathing in the gold and silver metal discs.