Allowing the question to hang in the air, the politician strolled back behind the fire. With his face visible, some of the mystery lifted.
“Did Muta's Death dither when faced with a mighty whirlpool?” he shouted. “No. You neither lurched nor wavered. You rowed mightily, denying Charybdis another victim.”
The crew jumped up and shouted their approval. It was almost as if they rowed through Charybdis like champions. In fact, the navigators had steered far afield of the whirlpool.
“I stand here, like you, a citizen of the Republic,” Lucius Flaccus told the crew. He dropped his arms so fast that his hands slapped his thighs. “But unlike you heroes, I stand here humbled. In awe of your courage and tenacity in daring to conquer the sea.”
Arms shot into the air, feet stomped the sand, and voices yelled their approval of the speech. When the ovation had gone on for a several moments the Senator raise both arms.
“I do have one question, if you will permit me?” he asked to more cheering. Finally, he waved down the crew. Flaccus sniffed the air and inhaled the aroma of roasting chicken before asking. “When do we eat?”
Amid the bellowing of two hundred rowers, sailors, and Marines, Senator Flaccus sat.
“Sir, that was stirring,” Rudentis admitted. “Thank you for the inspiring speech.”
“Unfortunately, few citizens, unless they travel to the Capital on the right days,” Flaccus said to the ship’s senior officer, “get to hear a speech by a Senator. It was my pleasure.”
“You made my job and those of my deck officers easier, sir,” the Centurion remarked.
“Was it good enough to get me to the Capital before the Ides of March?” Flaccus inquired.
“Senator, you have no idea,” Rudentis replied.
The crew, officers, and the Senator’s staff stretched out after eating. Lucius Flaccus gazed at the stars for a long time before falling into the arms of Morpheus. He dreamed of making a speech in the Senate that met with…
“Senator Flaccus, it is time to board,” his secretary urged.
“It’s very bright,” Flaccus noted “but not daylight.”
“It is the middle of the night, sir. The moon is up and almost full,” his assistant responded while shaking sand out of the Senator’s blanket.
“Which marks this as three days until the Ides of March,” Lucius Flaccus commented.
Chapter 23 – The Escort’s Dilemma
Frances Allocco yawned and stretched. Then she picked up a ball of cotton thread.
“Hold still and do not bite down,” the Doctor warned. “If you do, I’ll have Optio Affatus knock the tooth out.”
“Yes ma’am,” the household guard confirmed.
“I am Doctor Allocco or Doctor, not a ma’am,” she insisted. “Open your mouth.”
She wrapped cotton thread around the disease tooth. When a thick coating of thread covered the lower half of the tooth, she picked up a small sharp steel knife. The Doctor made a tiny vertical cut on the gumline exposing the lower section of the tooth.
The guard twisted at the pain but Civi and another former Legionary held him steady. Doctor Allocco worked the lead tips of the forceps down around the tooth.
“Hold him,” she ordered, “tighter.”
Twisting evenly, she broke the roots and gave one more twist before pulling the tooth clear.
“Why the lead tips on the instrument, Doctor?” Civi asked.
“The tooth must be bad enough so it can be extracted by the grip of soft lead forceps,” the Doctor explained. She held up the tongs and examined the intact tooth. “If the tooth shatters, fragments left in the socket will prevent healing. It must come out completely. Like this one.”
“Say Doctor, it feels better already,” the patient remarked.
“Chew on the other side for a week,” Frances instructed. “And swirl liquid around and rinse your mouth to clean the hole.”
While Allocco washed her tools in vinegar, Aquila Carvilius came into the room.
“You must be exhausted,” she mentioned. “You can use my daughter’s room for a nap.”
“Lady Aquila, I need to get back to my hospital in Ostia,” Frances told her. “Has Centurion Sisera arrived yet?”
“No and I am worried,” the lady of the villa admitted. Then she looked at the former Legion NCO. “Optio Affatus. Can you make arrangements for the Doctor’s safe passage?”
“Yes, ma’am. I know a cavalry officer that I trust,” Civi told her. “I’ll send to him for an escort to take the Doctor back to Ostia. But it will be later tonight around moon rise.”
“That gives you time to rest, freshen up, and eat before the trip,” Aquila remarked to the Doctor.
“Sounds good,” Frances admitted, “but I need to check on the Senator before I rest.”
As they strolled down the hallway to Spurius Maximus’ room, the women talked.
“You are so forth coming with health information and I want to thank you for that,” Aquila complimented the Doctor. “City physicians act as if the body is a mystery. They stand back and act superior.”
“The body and its workings are a mystery. Or at least the spark of life is,” Allocco informed the lady. “My job is to reset, sew, and treat oarsmen and Legionaries. Anything to get them back to the fleet. If I want them to follow instructions, they need to know why.”
“It’s a fine idea to inform your patients. Here we are,” Aquila said while opening the door to the Senator’s chamber. “Spurius are you awake.”
“Aquila, I must get to the Senate,” Maximus mumbled. But he made no attempt to get out of bed.
Doctor Allocco placed her hand on his forehead and the other over the wound and bandage.
“He needs to drink more,” Allocco offered. “The amount of blood he lost is going to leave him weak for several days. Right now, his skin is cool. That is a good sign.”
Frances stood upright then staggered back a step.
“Let me show you to the room,” Aquila proposed, “before you fall over.”
“I believe, that would be prudent,” Frances admitted.
***
Frances Allocco woke, reluctantly climbed out of the comfortable bed, and splashed water on her face. Down the hallway, a set of windows showed her it was late at night. Outside, a pair of household guards patrolled the patio. Inside the lady of the villa napped in a chair. Surprisingly, the room that resembled a battlefield when Doctor Allocco went to bed, appeared ready to accept guests for a gala.
“Lady Aquila, I need to check on the Senator,” Frances called out softly.
“And then we’ll get you fed,” Aquila promised. She came out of the chair smoothly and gracefully, all signs of sleep gone. “Optio Affatus tells me the escorts should be here at moon rise.”
“Any word from Centurion Sisera?” the Doctor inquired.
“I fear not,” Aquila admitted. “Come with me. We’ll check on Spurius then get you fed and paid.”
Frances stopped and stared at the lady of the villa. Payment, being a delicate subject, was usually handled by the head of household. But Senator Maximus was in no condition to conduct business.
“Don’t look surprised, Doctor,” Aquila stated. “Who do you think ran the estate when Spurius was off with the Legion? I’ll authorize Belen to release the funds.”
After checking on her patient and eating, the physician sat talking with Aquila. Luna made her appearance and moonlight came through the windows creating squares of light on the tile floor. From the front of the villa, the sounds of hooves on pavers carried to the great room.
“Doctor Allocco, are you ready?” Civi Affatus inquired. “I have a driver for your carriage and two mounted guards. I expect the racket outside is your cavalry escort.”
“Yes, of course, Optio,” Frances acknowledged. “Thank you, Lady Aquila.”
“Thank you, Doctor Allocco, for taking care of my household,” the lady responded.
Frances Allocco and Civi stepped through the front door
. On the driveway were six cavalrymen.
“Samnite auxiliary,” Civi pointed out. “I hope you don’t have a problem with that.”
“Optio, a quarter of my patients are Samnite oarsmen,” Frances advised the NCO.
“Who is in charge?” Civi questioned the six riders.
“I am, sir. Lieutenant Pentri,” a tall cavalryman replied. “Compliments of Captain Herius Potilius.”
“You’ll be escorting the lady to the hospital in Ostia,” Civi informed him. “Is that a problem?”
“No, sir,” the Lieutenant replied. “Captain Potilius said whatever you need.”
Doctor Allocco’s packages of medical supplies were loaded in the carriage and she climbed in after. Once his passenger was settled, the driver snapped the reins on the team. The carriage, followed by the escorts, turned onto the boulevard. Soon the sounds of the caravan faded, leaving Villa Maximus in silence. It was three days until the Ides of March.
***
“Lieutenant Pentri, are we going directly back to the unit?” one of the cavalrymen inquired.
“Why do you ask?” Pentri questioned.
“I have a brother assigned to the fleet,” the soldier replied. “He’s a rower and I haven’t seen him in a year.”
Pentri kneed his horse, drew the animal around, and trotted to the four riders at the rear of the carriage.
“Does anyone have relatives or friends stationed at Ostia?” Pentri inquired.
The streets of Ostia were narrow, requiring the horses to press close together. The riders talked easily over the noise of the hooves on the pavers.
“I have several friends assigned to the fleet,” one soldier responded. “I’d like to see them.”
***
The carriage pulled up at the hospital.
“You can’t…” the guard began when he saw the Doctor climb out.
“Lieutenant Pentri, thank you for the escort,” Doctor Allocco said to the cavalry officer.
“It was our pleasure, ma’am,” he replied.
Frances Allocco turned and vanished into the hospital. Shortly after she went in, a group of people came out and took the packages from the carriage.
“Mission accomplished,” Pentri announced to his five soldiers. “Let’s go see if we can find a proper Samnite breakfast. You and the Latians are welcome to join us.”
“Thank you, sir, but Civi wants us back at the villa,” the driver of the carriage said, turning down the offer.
They wheeled the caravan around on the street and traveled to the edge of town together. At the main artery, they separated. The Maximus household guards went north to the Capital. The cavalrymen rode to the Legion post.
***
Unexpected visitors in the form of relatives and friends from home was cause for small intimate celebrations. But tribesmen with no connection to the five cavalrymen broke their routine and joined the festivities. Soon three hundred Samnite rowers were gathered, creating an improvised holiday.
“Your patrol seems to have caused a disruption in my training schedule,” a Samnite Second Principale griped to Pentri.
“Sir, I apologize for that,” the cavalry officer replied. “It was unintentional.”
“Relax Lieutenant,” the deck officer instructed. “The men have been working hard. A little fun won’t hurt.”
Barrels of wine were rolled out of storage. Pigs and lambs mounted above fires, and those with voices or musical abilities entertained.
“When do we leave, Lieutenant?” one of the escorts inquired. The man had his arm draped over his younger sibling’s shoulders.
“I think in the morning,” Pentri replied. “Enjoy your visit.”
“Thank you, sir,” both brothers said before walking off.
Pentri located a mug of wine and an isolated stack of crates with a view of the festivities. He rested the wine on the top box, climbed up, retrieved his mug, and sat with his legs dangling.
The fragrance of cooking meat drifted through the crowd. Two of his escorts, along with hometown friends brought him servings of meat and more wine. Then, laughing and chatting, they staggered back into the thong.
“It’s a beautiful sight,” a voice commented.
Without looking at the speaker, Pentri retorted, “You think drunk and disorderly in the middle of the day is beautiful?”
“You misunderstand me, Lieutenant.”
The emphasis on his rank got Pentri’s attention. Looking down, he stared into the face of a Samnite Major.
“Sir, I didn’t realize,” Pentri stammered while shifting to jump down.
“Stay where you are Lieutenant,” the fleet staff officer ordered. “I just wanted to see the man who turned my carefully constructed training schedule upside down.”
“Major, I only wanted to give my patrol an opportunity to visit a few friends and one his brother,” Pentri explained. “Captain Potilius detailed us out for as long as necessary. We completed the mission early this morning and came for breakfast.”
“I don’t know Captain Potilius,” the staff officer admitted. “Who is your commander?”
“Major Paccia Caraceni, sir,” Pentri replied. “Commander of the Samnite Cavalry Auxiliary.”
“Aha, you are one of Caraceni’s officers,” the Major remarked. He grabbed a passing oarsman. “Bring the Lieutenant and me another mug of wine.”
“Yes, sir,” the rower said.
Pentri noted for the first time, the slur in the Major’s speech and the large empty mug in his hand.
“When I said before that the men were beautiful, I was referring to the sight of Samnite treasures gathering freely,” the staff officer explained. “The fellowship of our tribesmen without the bothersome Latian overlords makes my heart full.”
Pentri wished he was anywhere else, and not having this conversation. Rebellious and disrespectful talk he expected from young men. When he joined the Sixth Samnite Cavalry, Captain Potilius warned him about listening to or tolerating militant talk. As an officer, he corrected the men under him when anyone spoke of disloyalty to the Republic. But a senior officer spouting the dangerous ideals, left a Lieutenant with no option except to listen.
“Do you have a message for me from Major Caraceni?” the staff officer asked suddenly.
“No, sir,” Pentri replied. Curious about the request, he added. “But the Major has been in Rome a lot lately and not at our garrison.”
The oarsman returned with mugs of wine. He handed one to the staff officer, the other to Pentri, then he saluted and walked away.
The Major took a long pull of the strong red and smiled up at Pentri.
“Tell Major Caraceni that the Samnites at Ostia are ready to march on Rome,” the staff officer announced. He raised his mug in salute and avowed. “We only await his messenger. Then we will unleash our vengeance on all Latians.”
“Yes, sir,” Pentri commented. Although his heart hurt and his hands shook, the Lieutenant responded by raising his mug. “To our vengeance.”
Late in the afternoon, the Major wandered off and Pentri hopped off the crates. In the mass of rowers, he located two of his cavalrymen.
“I remembered something I have to take care of,” he explained to them. “You are fine for today. But get an early start back in the morning.”
“Yes, sir,” one replied. “It’s a woman, right Lieutenant?”
“It is a matter of the heart,” Pentri replied.
The cavalry officer ambled away from the party. Once out of sight from the gathering, he sprinted for the stables and his horse.
Act 8
Chapter 24 – The Rawest Implications
Alerio sat up in the storage room. The scratching of the locking-beam being lifted from the brackets woke him. Without windows, his lamp only provided light, it gave no indication of day or night in the closed room. Alerio shifted on the grain bags for a more comfortable position. Hopefully, his jailers were delivering food.
The men who came through the doorway were not Samnite
cavalrymen. With the substantial chest pieces, armored skirts, and helmets, the two Alerio saw before they entered resembled Legion infantrymen.
‘Excellent,’ Alerio thought, ‘maybe now I can see a magistrate and get this sorted out.’
“Gentlemen, it is good to see Legionaries,” he greeted them. “I expect…”
The second two men through the doorway were outlines, lit by light coming from behind them.
Alerio could not see the movement of the arm as it came from the shadow. Or the fist that pounded into his ribs and knocked him across the small storage room.
“Get him up, hooded, and tied,” one ordered. “We need to be away from here before the cavalrymen start asking questions.”
“This is the worst escape plan ever,” Alerio offered.
Jerked to his feet, another fist crashed into the ribs on the other side.
“A simple shut up would have been enough,” Alerio coughed out.
A cloth sack dropped over his head, his arms were forced behind his back and cords bound them together. Once tied and sightless, a forearm smashed into Centurion Sisera’s shoulders, propelling him to the doorway.
Outside, hands snugged under his arms and lifted Alerio into a wagon.
“Can you at least tell me what day this is?” Alerio pleaded.
“Three days until the Ides of March,” a voice replied.
“Keep your mouth shut,” another of Alerio’s ‘rescuers’ ordered.
Because his ribs ached, being silent seemed like a good idea to Alerio. He crossed his legs and sat on the wagon bed. A rustling of cloth sounded familiar and, when the vehicle moved, Alerio recalled another trip in a transport equipped with curtains to hide the occupant.
‘Not Legionaries,’ Alerio decided. ‘The men were armored temple guards and the wagon was a prisoner cart.’
From that moment until the cart reached its destination, Alerio mentally noted the surface changes under the wheels, plus every turn and straight section of road. And he listened for noises and voices along the route.
Muted Implications (Clay Warrior Stories Book 12) Page 16