Tribune's Oath (Clay Warrior Stories Book 17)

by J. Clifton Slater

  In the bottom half of the clay form, a bronze disk of the Sun God glowed in the afternoon sun.

  “You did an amazing job,” Alerio complimented the metal worker.

  “I worked from your drawing to carve the face and the four horses,” Albin stated. He pulled a small medallion from a pouch. “And I cast a small pendant to test the look.”

  He held out a Helios medal that dangled from a leather band.

  “For you, sir,” Albin justified. “Without your leadership, we wouldn’t be together, treated as well, or be as well fed.”

  Alerio took the leather thong and dropped it over his head. He ran his fingers over the bronze disk. The feel of Helios and the God’s four winged steeds told of Albin’s talent as a metalworker. He dropped it down the neck of his tunic and saluted the tool maker.

  “I thank you for the gift,” Alerio acknowledged. “It’ll remind me every day of something I do not plan to regret.”

  “What’s that, sir?” the tool maker asked.

  “Not looking into the eyes of my child,” Alerio confessed. “As far as being well fed, I did my best, but probably failed.”

  “The bronze won’t be cool enough to handle until the morning,” Albin told him. “We should eat the meat that came in today.”

  Chapter 17 – Freedom Sailing Away

  For two days, the overseer marched his thugs onto the courtyard and searched for extra meat, fish, and fowl. But after each inspection, Bagarok walked away empty handed. It wasn’t that the Legionaries consumed all the food sent from the five work camps. To deny the Iberian manager, Alerio fed the Noricum soldiers and gave them extra to take back to their barracks.

  “See here, Lophos,” Didacus objected, “you’re giving away provisions to our prison guards. I think that practice should stop.”

  “Would you rather the food go to the overseer?” Alerio questioned.

  “No, of course not,” the foreman remarked. “We could hide the meat around the job site. There are plenty of places to conceal the excess.”

  “Feeding the Noricum soldiers serves a purpose,” Alerio assured him without explanation. “I’ve told you before, do not get into my business.”

  The foreman made fists and glared at Alerio.

  “My shoulder is healed. If you want to fight, let’s do it,” Alerio said calling his bluff. “I need the exercise.”

  Didacus snorted and stomped off.

  ***

  On the third day, Corporal Philetus arrived with packages. His appearance from the opposite side of the courtyard seemed to be a poetic balance to Bagarok and his bodyguards leaving from the other exit.

  “I have trowels for finishing the exterior,” the Legion NCO informed a group of men. “Where’s Alerio Lophos?”

  The group pointed up to the building. Six men stood on a framework of beams and boards. Interconnected, the wood created tiers that reached to the top of the facade. The six stood three stories up on the highest level.

  “A little to the left,” Albin instructed.

  Two metalworkers shifted the bronze image of the Sun God to the left.

  “Perfect. Master of Clay,” he invited the next man on the scaffolding.

  Remus used a chisel to cut an oval in the stucco to match the size of the bronze casting. When he had deepened the cut enough, a helper handed him a bucket of wet clay. Remus filled the shape with fine white clay and moved out of the way.

  Albin and his assistants positioned the bronze medallion then pressed it into the wet mass. As it sank in, Remus cut away the excess clay.

  “What do you think?” Albin asked when the casting of Helios was firmly in place.

  Everyone on the platform agreed it looked magnificent. Except for one, who didn’t offer an opinion.

  “What no praise or corrections, Alerio?” Remus asked.

  “Sorry. My mind wandered,” Alerio answered. He scanned the image quickly and added. “It’s very nice.”

  “Such high acclaim,” Albin joked. “You make us blush with your untethered praise.”

  From the height of the scaffolding, Alerio had a view of the area outside the compound. What he witnessed in an alleyway off a side street forced him to question several notions. Specifically in doubt and the cause of his distraction, were the ideas of trust, honor, and duty. While climbing down, Alerio replayed the scene in his head.

  ***

  Bagarok and four thugs, one toting boxes, sauntered up the road while Corporal Philetus strolled towards them from the other direction. The two were on a collision course and Alerio feared for the Legion NCO. But when they met, the overseer and the Corporal stepped into an alleyway. They talked for several moments before shaking hands. At the exit from the lane, the bodyguard handed Philetus the boxes. And while the overseer headed for the courtyard, the NCO sorted through the containers, investigating the contents. After checking, he marched across the road and entered the compound.

  ***

  At the bottom of the scaffolding, Alerio ambled in the direction of Philetus and the boxes.

  “Corporal, what have you brought us?” Alerio asked.

  “Trowels. I noticed you were starting to apply stucco to finished areas,” Philetus responded. “I thought they might come in handy.”

  “Any news from the outside world?” Alerio asked while reaching in and taking a tool from the box.

  The grooved edge of the flat iron could easily rip flesh. Alerio ran a finger over the notches while waiting for the response. But the Legion NCO didn’t tell Alerio about the move to relieve the Noricum and the Iberian mercenaries. Things that should have been common knowledge at this stage.

  “Nothing to report, but one never knows everything,” Philetus assured him. “This is Qart Hadasht, and it is complicated.”

  “As you’ve reminded me,” Alerio stated. “Are you getting enough food? We have extra ham coming in from the stone quarry. They’ve been smoking it for two days. I expect it tomorrow.”

  “I’m fed grain mostly,” Philetus told him. “Ham would be nice. But isn’t the overseer taking all your extra?”

  “Not this time,” Alerio whispered. “We’re going to hide it in a kiln with our weapons.”

  “Weapons?” Philetus questioned.

  “Yes, we’ve made spearheads with extra iron,” Alerio said bringing the NCO into the conspiracy. He bounced the trowel on the palm of his hand, “and the bronze runoff from casting the medallion. When we have enough, we’ll make spears for our escape.”

  “Very clever,” the NCO confirmed before excusing himself. “I better go, they’re expecting me at another worksite.”

  The Legion NCO marched away. When Philetus moved by the Noricum guard, Alerio turned towards the forge and said, “I wonder how long it will take Albin to forge a few spearheads?”

  ***

  Late in the morning of the next day, the wagons with the raw materials arrived and Alerio located a smoked rump roast.

  “Where are you taking that meat?” a Legionary inquired.

  “It’s to replace the ham,” Alerio said as he started for the clay firing area.

  “What ham?” the confused infantryman asked.

  Alerio didn’t answer. He carried the roast to Albin who was busy hammering out spearheads.

  “You could just ask him,” the tool maker advocated.

  “A compromised man is already living a lie,” Alerio responded. “Giving false testimony isn’t a challenge to a dishonest reality. Besides, I need evidence before I accuse a Legionary that I…”

  Alerio stopped.

  “That you what?” Albin asked between strikes with his hammer.

  “A Legionary that I suspect of conspiring with the Empire,” Alerio lied.

  He almost said a Legionary that I promoted to Tesserarius. But it was too soon to reveal that he was Colonel Sisera. And that was the other reason he didn’t confront Philetus without more proof. The Corporal knew Alerio’s identity but hadn’t turned him over to Qart Hadasht authorities. It was a good
sign, unless the NCO was saving that piece of information for a bigger reward.

  ***

  It might have been Bagarok changing tactics and him telling the truth.

  “I’ve just come from another worksite,” the overseer announced. He put a hand on Remus’ back and propelled the Master of Clay to the kilns. “I was bragging about the quality of your tiles. How do you make them?”

  Alerio and the other craftsmen followed the overseer and his guards.

  “It’s just a mixture of clay, water, and sand blended with reeds to hold the bricks together,” Remus expounded on the simplicity of the formula for the durable finished product. “For walls we sun dry them. For tiles, we make them flatter and bake the elements in the ovens.”

  “Ah, yes the ovens,” Bagarok repeated. He walked between the mounds, placing a hand on several. At one, he left the hand flat on the clay and rock exterior. “This one seems cooler than the others.”

  “The tiles have finished baking,” Remus detailed. “We’ll allow them to cool naturally before taking the hardened tiles out.”

  “I’d like to see them,” the overseer stated.

  “If they cool too fast, they might crack,” the Clay Master counseled.

  “Still, I want to see the tiles for myself,” Bagarok insisted.

  Remus called over a pair of helpers with rags wrapped around their hands. They grabbed the door and pulled it away from the kiln. Bagarok shoved his face close to the oven but was driven away by a wave of hot air.

  “Close it,” Remus instructed.

  Bagarok walked behind the oven and kicked at the ash. Then he used his foot to brush away the remnants of the fire. His motions revealed a flat stone.

  “Lift that,” he instructed.

  Two of his bodyguards used sticks to pry the rock up and expose a hole. When the other guards began lifting spearheads from the depression, the overseer hopped around in shocked amazement. A collection of roughly constructed spearheads and a wrapped package came out of the hole.

  “What’s this? Weapons?” the overseer accused. “And a ham?”

  With the contraband in baskets, Bagarok marched his bodyguards from the kiln area and out through the courtyard. He never checked the wrapped meat.

  “What are you going to do about the Corporal?” Albin asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Alerio replied.

  Even if he had a plan on how to deal with the NCO, Alerio could do nothing about Philetus until he returned. Given time, he’d work out the details. But Janus, the God of Beginnings, Gates, Transitions, and Endings decided to intercede.

  ***

  The morning routine had developed over the weeks they spent rebuilding the structure. Work parties gathered around their Master Craftsman and shared a meal while discussing the priorities for the day. After the meal, the crews gathered tools or prepared supplies. Then the job site became a hive of activity.

  “I need a drawing of the arch for the third floor,” a carpenter notified Alerio.

  Grateful for a chance to be useful and to take his mind off Corporal Philetus, Alerio grabbed his parchment and ink and headed for a ladder. He climbed three rungs and froze.

  The pressure against his right shoulder blade felt as if someone was crowding in behind him and attempting to peer over his shoulder. Alerio looked up for danger from above then from side to side checking for hazards. With no obvious threats in sight, he held the ladder and swung around. On the far side of the courtyard, the gate opened slowly.

  ***

  The early morning sun came in the window and formed a square on the floor of the apartment. At the knock on the front door, Vitus shuffled through the square of light heading for a back room while Tutus cut across the light moving to the door.

  “Good morning. General Regulus is presently indisposed,” the aide said as he opened the door. “May I take a message.”

  In the hallway, a uniformed courier handed him a pouch, a bag of coins, and an unsealed letter. Then he spun on his heels and marched for the stairs. Tutus closed and barred the door.

  “Sir, you have messages,” he called to another room.

  Vitus and Regulus came into the parlor from opposite sides.

  “What is it now?” Marcus whined. “More invitations to galas?”

  Vitus took the pouch and pulled out a stack of papyrus sheets while Regulus reached for the letter. They read then stopped.

  “General Regulus, you need to read…” At the same time Vitus spoke, Regulus said, “Vitus, you need to read...”

  “Sir, if I may,” Tutus inquired, “what’s going on?”

  “We’re going to Rome,” Regulus explained. “There’s an Egyptian trading vessel leaving at midday for Syracuse. The coins are for passage from there to home. What’s in the pouch?”

  “Empire demands from the surrender of Qart Hadasht hostages,” Vitus answered while scanning the pages. “And it seems, their terms include the surrender of Sicilia by the Republic.”

  “Sir, should we tell Centurion Lophos?” Tutus asked.

  “We’ve barely time to pack and get ourselves to the dock,” Regulus directed. “Go collect what you can and anything you can’t carry, leave behind. Being on that Egyptian ship when it rows out of the harbor and into Punic Bay is the most important thing.”

  “Yes, sir,” both Vitus and Tutus confirmed with a pair of salutes.

  ***

  Twelve miles from the harbor of Qart Hadasht, a Greek merchantman set the fore and midship sails. Once the oars were stowed, the ship’s Captain directed his lead rower.

  “I think we’re far enough into the bay,” he instructed. “Open the cargo hold.”

  With a crewman on each end of the heavy deck board, they hoisted it and carried it to a side rail. They went back and removed a second. As the pair shuffled sideways to the rail, a Greek helmet with a long crest of red and yellow appeared. Shortly after, scarlet cloaks and four more men dressed in the bright capes came out of the opening. Before the Greek Captain could assure the Spartans there was no danger, forty capes, forty shields, and forty spears defended his deck.

  “General, there isn’t an Empire ship-of-war in sight,” he assured the commander.

  “I hate that meaningless title. Inept men and politicians hide behind Generalships,” Xanthippus stated. “I am a Spartan Commander and a proud Tail-Leader of a mighty phalanx.”

  His forty Spartans cheered.

  Then a Rank-Leader offered, “And a wealthy one as well, sir.”

  “There’s enough Empire gold to share with each of you,” Xanthippus confirmed. “You can say it’s a bonus, courtesy of the Special Branch.”

  With the wind’s cooperation, the Greek trader hauling the Spartans sailed away from Qart Hadasht. None of the Hoplites would ever again take a contract to train or fight for the Empire. As one Spartan complained, “Verbal orders aren’t worth the parchment they’re written on.”

  ***

  Alerio knew nothing about General Regulus sailing for Rome or Xanthippus and his Hoplites sailing for Sparta. He was focused on the gate to the courtyard. Too early for his material haulers, there was no reason for the gate doors to open.

  Responding to the alert from the Goddess Nenia, Alerio jumped from the ladder, dropped his supplies, and raced towards the gates. He wasn’t sure what he planned to accomplish when he got there. But it turned out to be a moot point. He never arrived.

  His run ended abruptly when a squad of Noricum soldiers marched through the opening. Whatever he had in the back of his brain, it didn’t involve getting into a barehanded fight with armored soldiers.

  They came in shoulder to shoulder and Alerio backed up. Inhaling deeply, he thanked the Goddess for the warning. Then he began to call out and have the Legionaries prepare to defend themselves.

  Just before he got the warning vocalized, the soldiers reached the center of the courtyard and stopped.

  “Men of the Republic,” a Noricum NCO shouted. “Another day, another battlefield. Until we cross
blades again, goodbye.”

  The ten soldiers turned about and marched out of the courtyard. Left behind was a cart with a goatskin tarp over the bed. Alerio sprinted to the wagon, slid to a stop, and flung the cover off the cargo.

  “Remus. Albin,” Alerio shouted to the Master Craftsmen, “send me ten Legionaries who aren’t afraid to get their blades wet.”

  While he waited, Alerio pulled an armored skirt from the pile of Legion war gear and strapped it around his waist. Before the ten men arrived, Alerio had a gladius in one hand and was pulling a scutum from the bed of the wagon.

  “What’s this?” Didacus demanded.

  “Parting gifts from the Noricum soldiers,” Alerio replied.

  “Parting gifts?” the foremen questioned. “Where did they go?”

  “That’s not the question,” Alerio countered while strapping on a section of chest armor.

  “What is?” Didacus asked.

  Alerio answered with the question, “Who is coming to take their place?”

  Chapter 18 – The Violent Trail

  At midday, the answer to who was next arrived in the form of the Iberian overseer and fifteen armored irregulars. Accompanying the manager and his force was Corporal Philetus. His presence solidified the suspicion about his loyalty and revealed the level of trust his new masters had in him. He was unarmed.

  “Where is Colonel Sisera?” Bagarok bellowed as he came through the open gateway. “I’m here for Battle Commander Sisera. If you turn him over, life will be good. More freedom and better food.”

  “But you’ve been stealing our meat,” a solitary Latian called from the roof deck of the building.

  One by one, he was joined by ranks workers. They appeared on either side of the man until the roof deck was lined with men. As if winking, rays of sunlight flashed across the face of Helios, blinding the overseer.

  “A misunderstanding,” Bagarok suggested while squinting. “Where is Sisera?”

  Behind the overseer, the gates moved. Swinging away from the fence as they closed, the gates revealed seven armed and armored Legion infantrymen. Then, at the entrances on either side of the courtyard, pairs of Legionnaires stepped through, blocking the exits.