Tribune's Oath (Clay Warrior Stories Book 17)

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Oh no man of the villa, it means you can sleep peacefully in your own bed tonight,” she promised. “Corporal, please open the gate for Colonel Alerio Sisera.”

  “Sir, I didn’t know,” Merula apologized.

  He pulled a key from a pouch, inserted it in the lock, and removed the chain. Before he had the gate half open, Gabriella shoved him out of the way and flew into Alerio’s arms.

  “You stink, man of the house,” she said between kisses.

  “I thought about stopping for a bath before coming home.”

  “We have a bath here,” she reminded him.

  “You do?” Alerio remarked. “Would you have a loaf of bread, a chunk of pork with the edges crispy from the fire, and a large mug of fine, red vino.”

  “That and much more,” Gabriella promised with a wink. “But first a bath and a change of clothing. Before you go into the house, I want you clean and dressed appropriately.”

  Act 10

  Chapter 28 – Marcia!

  The soldiers prodded Marcus with their spears when he slowed and tried to scratch through the shirt.

  “It’s called burlap, Proconsul,” Ahirom identified the rough fabric. “The Egyptians eat the flesh of the jute plant and use the fibrous part to stabilize silty soil. We found it made excellent material for a punishment garment.”

  Marcus Regulus rolled his shoulders and twisted his back in attempts to stop the itching.

  Only forty members of the Special Branch’s one hundred and four members accompanied the condemned man and the military Suffete. But they were supplemented by citizens who learned of the execution. Sipping raisin wine and talking bravely, they added to the menacing atmosphere. Most had sons, fathers, or nephews held captive in Rome. They harbored no love or sympathy for the Proconsul.

  After crossing Byrsa Hill, the procession descended to rolling terrain. Olive groves and clusters of other fruit trees lined the road. Beyond the orchards, grape vineyards stretched to either side of the lane. As the land began to flatten, vegetable gardens replaced the vines. Then outside the defensive walls, the landscape leveled, and fields of wheat stretched as far as the eye could see.

  “You Romans think the power of Qart Hadasht comes from our ships-of-war and sea trade,” Ahirom boasted. “They help, but our strength comes from agriculture and the richness of our soil.”

  Marcus’ throat was dry and the fibers on his bare skin felt as if tiny bugs were dining on his flesh. He stumbled and, for an instant, got a hand over his shoulder and under the garment. Before he could scratch the irritation, the butt end of a spear pushed his lower back and he stumbled forward. To keep his balance, Marcus threw both arms out to his sides. While he remained upright, the itching continued.

  “My people taught Greeks letters, and perfected planting techniques to draw more crops from the fields,” Ahirom explained. He indicated a farm with a main house, a stable, and a grain storage shed. The soldiers shoved Marcus off the main road and onto a path. With the long parade following, the Suffete expounded on an Empire farming implement. “One of our inventions is the threshing board.”

  Two structures resembling large doors that would act nicely as gates in a defensive wall rested against the shed. Both were constructed of heavy planks. Other than the obvious weight, the threshing boards didn’t appear particularly dangerous.

  “What are you going to do, Suffete?” Marcus said defiantly. “Sandwich me between the boards and let your citizens walk over me. It’ll take a lot of steps before I die.”

  “Wrap him in leather,” Ahirom told a soldier. Then to Marcus, he admitted. “You’re half right, Proconsul.”

  Two farmers pulled one of the threshing boards off the wall and carried it to an open stretch of ground. They dropped it face up and walked to a stable.

  Marcus swallowed hard. Curved iron blades protruded from the board.

  “We tow this device over the cut wheat,” Ahirom stated. “The blades rip the kernels of wheat from the stalks, allowing us to harvest and process more grain. Ingenious, don’t you think?”

  Marcus grunted as his arms were pinned to the side of his body and his legs clamped together. The soldier finished wrapping his body with the sheet of goatskin then tied it in place with ropes.

  While the soldier finished binding the skin, the farmers returned with a horse. The beast was backed up to the threshing board and the harness secured to a pull ring.

  “We do plan to insert you between two boards,” Ahirom commented. “But we won’t have to walk on it. Had you brought our sons home, your visit to Qart Hadasht would have been different.”

  “Three thousand dead Legionaries and five hundred citizens of the Republic held in slavery would disagree with you,” Marcus replied. “Rome will never submit to oath breakers.”

  “I did speak with General Bostar. He made no promise of safety for your men,” the Suffete informed him. Then he addressed the soldiers. “Put him on the bed of blades.”

  Three soldiers hoisted Marcus off his feet. They carried him to the threshing board and placed his body on the iron tips, leaving his head hanging over the edge.

  “Hear my prayer,” Marcus cited as the blades of the second threshing board were lowered onto his body. “Vesta, give me strength to…”

  One of the farmers slapped the rump of the horse. Accustomed to dragging the blades, the draft animal charged forward. Using more force than was necessary to move the threshing boards, the horse raced over the ground. With every stride, the threshing boards bounced, and the blades meshed through the goatskin, the burlap fabric, and the human skin.

  A prayer to the Goddess Vesta wasn’t his final word.

  Before the blades ripped into his body and the Goddess Nenia took the soul from his tortured flesh, Marcus Regulus screamed his wife’s name, “Marcia!”

  Chapter 29 - Olivia and Tarquin

  “Gabriella!” Alerio cried out. “You’ll peel the flesh from my back.”

  “Maybe I should get a Punic girl to scrape the oil from your skin,” she said.

  “Why would you do that?” Alerio inquired.

  “Because you’ve spent more time there,” Gabriella answered, “than you have here with me.”

  Alerio turned to face his wife and took her in his arms. Before gazing into her light brown eyes with gold flakes, he caught sight of the bath water and the rinse water.

  “I guess I did need a good washing,” he observed.

  Gabriella pushed him away and smiled.

  “You’ll have your home coming later,” she scolded. “For now, you must dress properly and greet the members of your household.”

  He yawned and his stomach growled.

  “Later,” she informed him when he pointed down at his stomach. “For now, get dressed.”

  A white linen tunic rested on a bench beside a yellow wool toga.

  “So formal?” he asked while dropping the tunic over his head.

  “The Master of Villa Sisera is home,” she advised. Taking one end of the twelve feet of fabric, she danced around Alerio while wrapping him in the toga. With a flourish, she tossed the end of the cloth over his left shoulder. “And he must appear before them as a Patrician. Not a wandering vagabond.”

  “Do I look magnificent, like a Consul?” Alerio beamed.

  “Mostly,” she said while making a clicking sound of judgement.

  “Just mostly,” he challenged. “What am I missing?”

  “Something in your arms,” Gabriella replied.

  He reached for her waist, but she stepped back.

  “Not me,” she corrected.

  Taking his hand, she led him from the bath, across the courtyard, and into the main villa. Inside, Alerio found Merula Mancini, the household guard, and five servants. Merula saluted and the staff curtsied.

  “Where’s Hektor?” Alerio asked when he looked beyond the last servant. “I thought he would be first in line.”

  But Gabriella had left the room. When she reappeared from a hallway, she cuddle
d a baby in her arms.

  “I’d like you to meet Olivia DeMarco Carvilius Sisera,” Gabriella introduced him to his daughter. “I must warn you. She’s energetic and grabs everything she can reach.”

  Alerio pulled the chain with the Heilos pendant over his head and dangled it above the baby. Her eyes widened as the bronze caught the afternoon light. He smiled at the gold flecks in her light brown eyes.

  “This I pray for you, my daughter,” Alerio intoned as he rested the pendant on Olivia’s belly. “May you walk, for all your days, under a gentle and nourishing sun. And may Helios shine his light into the dark shadows and chase away any evil hiding within.”

  Olivia reached for the medal but could only manage to slap at the bronze with her right hand. But the small motion brought a smile to her tiny face.

  “Now I have almost everything I love,” Alerio stated. “Well, almost everything.”

  “I couldn’t very well bring Phobos into the villa,” Gabriella said. “The horse is unmanageable.”

  “I was referring to Hektor,” Alerio corrected.

  “Yes, well, about Hektor,” Gabriella whispered. Then she called down the hallway. “Hektor, come in here.”

  The Greek boy entered with another baby in his arms. Alerio’s mouth opened forming an ‘O’ as he followed Hektor’s progress down the hallway.

  “And just who is this?” he asked while raising his eyebrows.

  “We’ve been trying to fatten him up,” Hektor said. He held out his arms to display an undersized baby boy. “He just has no taste for food, Colonel. We’ve been forcing him to eat.”

  Alerio extended a finger and placed it in the baby’s right hands. For a scrawny little one, the boy exerted a tremendous amount of pressure. After prying his finger free, Alerio placed it in the boy’s left hand. With just as much strength as the right hand, he gripped the finger.

  “You’ll stop the force feeding as of now,” Alerio declared.

  Hektor faded back in horror and Gabriella stepped between Alerio and his son.

  “How can you be so…?”

  “Silence,” Alerio roared. Then softly, he said. “I was a small baby and a weak youth. But I have an advantage. I am as equally strong and coordinated in my right side as in my left. My son has the same skills. Would you please introduce him?”

  Gabriella took the infant from Hektor and spun to face her husband.

  “I’d like you to meet Tarquin DeMarco Carvilius Sisera,” Gabriella presented the baby. “While small, he is ambidextrous and handsome, just like his father.”

  “Hektor, you have something for me?” Alerio questioned. The Greek boy pulled the second Helios pendant from a pouch and handed it to Alerio. “Thank you, Hektor Nicanor. You should know, I’m pleased you’re here.”

  “As I am to be a member of your household, sir,” Hektor replied.

  When Alerio dangled the pendant over Tarquin, the baby lifted both small arms, attempting to grab the medallion.

  “This I pray for you, my son,” Alerio chanted as he rested the pendant on Tarquin’s belly. “May the God Helios shine on your fields so the crops grow. And may he glare over your shoulder and into the eyes of your enemies. Blinding them to the movement of your blades.”

  Alerio steepled his hands and rested them on the bridge of his nose. For several heartbeats he remained motionless.

  “When I was in Qart Hadasht, the thing that kept me going was getting home to everything I love,” he whispered. Then he dropped his hands and asked. “Now that I’m home, can we eat? I’m starving.”

  Chapter 30 - The Silent Wolf

  A week later, Alerio Sisera paced the floor of his adopted father’s office. The walls held mementoes of Senator Maximus’ battles when he was a General of Legions. But the walls displayed nothing of his accomplishments as a businessman or a legislator.

  “You seemed troubled,” Spurius Maximus observed.

  “Tell me, Senator, have you ever carried anger from the battlefield?” Alerio asked.

  “I’ve hurt from losing men in combat. And I’ve been disappointed in the failings of my officers,” Spurius Maximus admitted. “But that wasn’t anger. More like frustrations. Why do you ask?”

  “A lot of brave men died during the expedition,” Alerio told him. He rested a hand on his dagger and attempted to crush the leather and bone handle. “While some underserving men slithered unscathed from what they did on the Punic Coast.”

  “And you’re thinking about revenge?”

  “I’m considering challenging them. But I’m a father and a husband who has been gone too long and missed too much,” Alerio confessed. “I’m hoping you can talk me out of it.”

  “Wielding real power is not visceral like sinking a blade into an opponent’s chest. Or as satisfying as a financial gambit where you match your coins against his,” Maximus explained. “Exercising power is secretive and delivers justice unseen by the one visiting the misery. Oh, you’ll observe stress lines. But you won’t be in the room when he examines the ledgers and argues with his accountant over the losses. And you won’t be in his bedroom when he cries himself to sleep at night from the loss of social standing. You’ll need to be happy with the inability of bold men to look others in the eyes, and seeing proud men humbled. All while not gloating or crowing about their pain. Exercising real power is releasing a silent wolf to stalk those who have trespassed against you.”

  “I understand,” Alerio assured the Senator.

  “Then I’ll teach you how to use power,” Maximus promised before asking. “Are there many you plan to punish?”

  Alerio removed his hand from the hilt of his dagger, took a sip of watered wine, and replied, “The list, sir, is short but deserving.”

  The End

  A note from J. Clifton Slater

  Thank you for reading Tribune’s Oath. I have heard authors say writing books later in a series is difficult. While I can’t argue the general premise, Tribune’s Oath was a story that haunted me. The story fired my imagination and as I wrote, I couldn’t wait to read what happened next. Let me know if it affected you as well. Right now, read on, we have a slew of notes from this book.

  Until 255 B.C., the Generals who led Legions were sitting Consuls. Each had the authority to raise two marching Legions. But during the invasion of the Punic Coast, Marcus Regulus’ term as Consul expired. To grant him the authority to command the four Legions in the expedition, he was given the title of Proconsul and overall commander of the Republic forces. In today’s language, it sounds normal and even later in Rome’s history there were commanders in far off posts. But in 255 B.C., it was a new idea for the Senate of the Republic to cede that much power to anyone not a Consul. But they did, and they kept Marcus in command longer than was routine.

  Typically, in ancient times, the fear of a General becoming too powerful was a concern for the governing body. In Carthage, the Special Branch oversaw the Punic Generals, while in Rome the Senate maintained tight control over its military leaders. We don’t know why the Senate of Rome failed to send a replacement for Marcus Regulus but Roman historian Livy, 64 B.C. – 12 A.D. wrote, ‘…the Senate did not send him (Marcus Regulus) a successor. He complained in a letter to the Senate, in which he compared his request to a piece of land that had been left by its workers.’

  Fortunately for an adventure author, the situation leaves room for conjecture. Hopefully, Tribune’s Oath handled the tragedy of Marcus Regulus properly. Although, I must confess to compressing the timeline to keep the historical events in 255 B.C. Marcus may have been held for as long as five years before his release.

  Something else in dispute is how Marcus Regulus met his death after returning to Carthage.

  Livy simply wrote that Marcus Regulus returned to imprisonment (in Carthage) and was executed.

  Consul Gaius Tuditanids, 129 B.C., mentioned the torture and death of Marcus Regulus upon his return to Carthage.

  Diodorus Siculus, Greek historian 80 B.C. – 20 B.C. wrote that the tor
ture of Regulus was invented to excuse the subsequent torturing of two Carthaginian prisoners of war by Regulus’ widow Marcia. I must be a romantic guy. Because I left that piece out of the story, preferring to focus on the love between Marcus and Marcia.

  Tertullian, 155 – 220 A.D. wrote that Regulus was tortured and Augustine of Hippo, 354 – 430 A.D., added details of a box to the nature of the torture. Seeing as Carthage invented the threshing boards, I use them as the torture device in this story.

  The battles on the Punic Coast have been streamlined for this story. In historical reports, the Carthage army took to the hills and sought to defend the high ground. The terrain removed their advantage of cavalry, light infantry, and war elephants while giving the heavy infantry of the Legions fixed targets. As I reveal in this novel, the fault lay with the Punic Generals.

  Locating ancient battlefields is never easy. For the Battle of Adys, I measured the 40 miles southeast of Carthage as reported in history, looking for the town. No map showed Adys or, the alternative spelling, Adis exist in that location. However, a broad plain, the preferred topographical feature for both the Carthaginian and the Roman armies, was in the area. Using 40 miles around the Bay of Tunis from the Empire’s Capital and 33 miles inland from Citadel Kelibia on the coast where the Roman Legions landed, I decided on the town of Béni Khalled, Tunisia. If you follow Alerio’s adventures on maps, you can locate the site and land features I used for the battle of Adys.

  The location for the Battle of Tunis was simpler. The town is there, and except for locating the Medjerda River, which was call the Bagradas River in ancient times, is easily identifiable on a map.

  Nonnus of Panopolis was a Greek writer from the 5th century A.D. He wrote the epic poem The Dionysiaca. In Tribune’s Oath, we hear Centurion Pelle tell Alerio about the love between Semele and Zeus and the death of Semele due to the jealousy of Zeus’s wife Hera. The tale, although shortened, is straight from Greek mythology.