Brutal Diplomacy

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Brutal Diplomacy Page 3

by J. Clifton Slater


  “Minimum damage? Perfect, just a little toss with our shields,” Drustanus added.

  “Private, I’ve seen you knock down a barbarian and almost behead him with your shield,” Alerio said.

  “I would have,” protested Drustanus. “If the other one hadn’t begged for a chance to run his guts onto my blade.”

  The gate opened and Alerio ordered the squad to form up single file as they marched into the General’s compound.

  Chapter – 7 General’s Inspection

  Alerio blocked Eutropius’ javelin to the side. Then dropping to his knees, he spun and brought his javelin up and jabbed under the warrior’s shield.

  “Don’t over commit unless you have your shield in place,” Alerio informed him.

  From the porch on the back of the Villa, General Maximus cried out, “What’s this?”

  He stomped down the steps and marched directly toward Seventh squad’s tent. At the tent, he returned the duty guard’s salute before walking around testing the guide ropes. Then, he checked the stacked javelins, and the infantry shields propped against each other in squares of four. Finally, he raised an arm and motioned for Alerio to come to him.

  “You run a tight camp, Lance Corporal Sisera,” Maximus stated. “I haven’t had the pleasure of inspecting a Legion camp in years. But, for Bia’s sake, why is a squad of heavy infantry camped out at my Villa?”

  “Thank you, General. I’ll pass along your compliment to the men,” Alerio replied. “I’ve had troubles with the city guard about training the Insubri. Plus, I feared for your safety. When I explained it to Centurion Seneca, he insisted I place a squad under your command.”

  “You never argue with experienced officers or NCOs. That’s a lesson for you Lance Corporal,” Maximus said. “Now tell me about my gladiators.”

  Alerio walked the Senator around the three Insubri warriors. As they circled, he explained each of their weaknesses and strengths.

  “This is important to me,” Maximus reminded Alerio as he headed back to the Villa.

  “Yes, sir. We’ll put on a good show,” Alerio replied.

  The Senator turned around and drilled Alerio with his eyes.

  “I don’t want a good show,” he stated. “I want to win all three matches!”

  ***

  Alerio was sweating and had a bruise on his arm from Eolus’ shield. The tribesman was fast. Then, a hand cart came from around the side of the Villa being pulled by a Legionary. Behind the cart walked Tomas Kellerian.

  “Are they going to fight naked?” asked the Armorer. “If so, fine. But a man should drill in the armor he’s wearing to war. Bring those three over here so I can fit them with some protection.”

  A short time later, all three warriors had shin guards, forearm, shoulder armor and a helmet. Even Tomas wore armor.

  “I’m going to work them to see if they learned anything from you,” Tomas informed him. “Go sit on the grass.”

  “Yes, Centurion,” Alerio said thankfully.

  He strolled to the lawn and sank down. Tomas called out the Insubri warriors and bashed them one at a time to help them adjust to the armor. Then he called over three Legionaries and pair them up with the barbarians. By night fall, the gladiators were moving better in their new gear as well as a little stiffly from the work.

  Chapter – 8 Game Day

  “Tomas. I’m taking two infantrymen with me to secure our area at the games,” Alerio informed the Armorer.

  “Won’t you be more secure with the full squad,” suggested Tomas. “The city guard and the thugs are waiting for you to stick your head out of the compound.”

  “They’ll have to recognize me first,” Alerio replied as he slipped on a helmet, slid his arm through an infantry shield’s brace, and picked up a javelin. “Private Cimon. Choose a left side man and gear up.”

  Cimon pointed to another private and the two of them armed up.

  “Master Kellerian. The games start after the sun’s apex,” Alerio reminded Tomas. “Watch over the merchandise. I’ll see you there.”

  ***

  Two city guardsmen loitered on the far side of the intersection. They straightened when the gate opened and three infantrymen appeared. To the south and north, thugs also turned and watched.

  “You’ve got their attention,” Cimon said out of the side of his mouth.

  “Seems we do,” confirmed Alerio. “Form up and let’s see if they want to play.”

  With their left arms snug against their sides to support the weight of the shields, one stepped forward and began to march towards the city guardsmen. The other two fell in a half step back, flanking the lead. All three rested their javelins on their right shoulders with the iron tips level with the tops of their helmets. If necessary, the shields could quickly be brought forward creating a wall, and the javelin tips lowered, adding iron points to the shield wall.

  “You there! What’s your name?” demanded a city guardsman as he fell into step beside the three. He was speaking to the unit’s leader marching at the head of the formation.

  “Private Cimon of the Seventh of the Forty-Seventh,” Alerio’s left-pivot replied.

  On his right and a half step back, Alerio kept silent.

  “We’ve an arrest warrant for Lance Corporal Sisera,” the guardsman said as he fast walked to stay abreast of the formation. “He assaulted two guardsmen.”

  Barely turning his head to address the guard, Cimon inquired, “Are they dead?”

  “No but…”

  “We’ve just come from Volsinii,” Cimon interrupted the guardsman. “If they are alive, Lance Corporal Sisera didn’t assault them. Up north, when we assaulted, barbarians died. If they are alive then Sisera was just playing with them.”

  “Now see here,” protested the guardsman but the unit had reached the next intersection. He decided on returning to his companion to resume their vigil on the Villa.

  “I take it Sisera isn’t in charge of the unit,” the other guardsman commented when the first returned.

  “No. Just some hard cūlus veterans from Volsinii.”

  “Good. That’s three less we’ll have to deal with when Sisera comes out,” the second guardsman ventured. “Did they really level Volsinii after the attack?”

  “Every building, right down to the pavers.”

  “That’s extreme.”

  “That’s the heavy infantry,” the guardsman replied glancing up the street. Three blocks away, the three infantrymen were dodging traffic as they crossed the boulevard.

  ***

  Cimon guided the trio down Viminal Hill and turned south on the low road. Villas on their right rose in tiers covering this side of Quirinal Hill. At the southern toes of the hill, they turned on a westward road.

  “The stockyards are close,” announced Cimon.

  “What was your first clue?” inquired Alerio. “The merda on the roadside or the smell?”

  Ahead of them the Servian Wall loomed and on the south end of Quirinal Hill they passed the last Villa. Small trees and grass replaced the walls and courtyards of homes.

  The natural landscape continued around to the western slope of the hill. At the base, a road bordered the stockyards. Alerio shivered as he remembered a night of pain and confusion when he’d crossed the city. Injured and dodging the city guardsmen and the crime syndicate, Spilled Blood, he’d barely reached the Golden Valley trading house before passing out. Now at least, it was only the city guard after him.

  Viewing for the funeral games was provided by the natural Amphitheatre of the slope. Rows of seating for important people had been constructed along the crest of Quirinal. On each end of the rows, dirt had been piled and flattened and platforms built. Obviously, these were for the Consuls and their guests. Lower down, commons citizens and visitors to the Capital would have to make do with sitting on the grass. Food and beverage vendors had claimed territory and were already cooking or setting out their wares. And placed around the hill for easy access, betting stalls were going up.
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  The three infantrymen wheeled to the north and marched up the road following the fencing for the stockyard. They passed penned in cows, bulls, sheep, goats, horses, mules, and ponies. Their destination sat at the end of the pens.

  A raised area, usually for displaying livestock during auctions, had been heightened with a thick layer of sand. Behind the makeshift arena, two Legion command tents occupied most of the space between the sand, the Servian Wall and the pens.

  No livestock would be displayed and sold on this day. Today, the display was combat, death and blood to honor the recently departed Junius Brutus Pera.

  “Which tent?” asked Cimon.

  Recognizing Belen, Senator Maximus' secretary, Alerio instructed, “The one on the left.”

  Chapter – 9 Pregame Diplomacy

  “Cimon. I want one of you standing guard here at all times,” Alerio instructed as they reached the tent’s entrance. “And the other patrolling inside the tent.”

  “Lance Corporal Sisera, is the armor and Legion guards necessary?” asked Belen. “It is just funeral games.”

  “It maybe games to most people but someone is taking it very seriously,” replied Alerio. “Haven’t you noticed the people watching the Villa.”

  “The Senator did and he’s been traveling with extra security,” admitted Belen. “But this is…well, I’m not sure what this is. There’s never been combat to the death as a public spectacle.”

  “A senior NCO once told me, in the presence of combat, your temper gets up and you want to lash out either verbally or with your sword,” related Alerio. "The Legionaries are here to be sure nothing more dangerous than words are exchanged.”

  “There are refreshments on the table in the back,” was all Belen had to say after Alerio’s comment.

  ***

  “That’s a veteran Legionary,” Senator Maximus bragged from outside just before he entered the tent.

  Behind him came Consul Flaccus, and five men in gold and silver trimmed tunics. Alerio assumed they were Senators or wealthy supporters of Maximus.

  “Consul Flaccus. Let’s put an end to all this ugly talk about getting involved in Sicilia,” suggested Maximus. Around him the important men nodded their agreement. “Recent wars have cost us too much. Thanks to Consul Flaccus, our coffers are filling as we liquidate the spoils from Volsinii. But too slowly to support another war.”

  The group followed the senior Senator to the back of the tent. At the refreshment table, he picked up a piece of beef and waved it around as he continued.

  “As much as I hate to agree with Consul Codex, the Capital needs to enlarge. In your speech, Flaccus, throw your co-Consul a bone,” Maximus urged. “Promise to support his roads and utilities bill. Maybe that’ll soothe his frail ego.”

  “Nothing short of a bloodletting will pacify his damaged ego,” Flaccus added. “Ever since my parade, he’s been worshiping at the feet of the Goddess Invidia. Every time I see him in the Senate he gives me the evil eye. The man is eaten up with envy.”

  “Oh, for Vulcan’s sake what does he want? A golden forge?” Maximus cried. “Tell him, we’ll name a boulevard after him.”

  “That’s not what he wants, Senator,” one of the men in the richly appointed tunics explained. “He wants glory and fame.”

  From outside the tent, the Legionary’s voice carried to them.

  “Tribune, good morning, sir!” the sentry called out.

  Alerio, who had been hovering near the group, immediately headed for the entrance. Before he reached the tent flaps, Consul Appease Codex, followed by four men, strutted into the tent. One of them was a Tribune in ceremonial armor.

  “Tribune, good morning,” Alerio stated while slamming his fist into his chest.

  “And who are you?” the Tribune inquired, glancing towards the back of the tent where Cimon stood at attention. His posture was correct except for his bulging right cheek. It was obvious, the Legionary had stopped chewing a piece of food he’d snatched from the refreshment table. “And what are you doing here?”

  “Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera of the Southern Legion, temporarily detached to the Seventh of the Forty-Seventh,” Alerio responded. One of the men in Codex’s group snapped his head around at the mention of the name. “We are security for Senator Spurius Maximus and his gladiators.”

  “Since when does the Legion protect only one citizen?” demanded the Tribune.

  “I wouldn’t know, sir,” Alerio pleaded. “We are just following orders from our Centurion.”

  Before the Legion staff officer could question him further, Consul Codex called to the Tribune.

  “Gaius, come over here,” Codex ordered. “Gentlemen, this is Tribune Gaius Claudius. He’s been keeping me abreast of the invasion of Sicilia by the Qart Hadasht Empire.”

  “It’s hardly an invasion, Consul,” Maximus corrected him. “They’ve occupied the northern edge of Sicilia for years. But Syracuse and the Sons of Mars have kept them on their side of the island.”

  “They did. But now the Sons have invited the Empire into Messina to protect them from King Hiero and his army,” Appease Codex replied. His eyes were open wide with excitement and his breathing rate increased as he argued his point. “The Empire is on the threshold of the Republic and we must slam the door in their face.”

  “We can send an ambassador to Messina,” replied Maximus. “Diplomacy is cheaper than warfare.”

  “Tell them, Tribune Claudius,” Codex ordered.

  “Sirs, I’ve been in communications with Southern Legion’s head of planning and stratagies. One, Tribune Velius, who sent envoys to Messina to speak with Admiral Hanno of the Qart Hadasht,” Gaius reported. “His reply was, and I quote: The oceans belong to the Empire. Don’t even take a glass of sea water without asking permission. And remember, the only reason you, dirt farmers of the Republic, have foreign trade is the Empire hasn’t gotten around to you, yet.”

  “That, gentlemen! That is their response,” an excited Appease Codex shouted. “The tip of a Legion javelin is the only diplomacy the Empire understands. I say we march on Messina.”

  “And I say we don’t, co-Consul,” Marcus Flaccus said reminding Codex that he was only half of the Republic’s leadership. “We need to improve the Capital. Even you, until recently, insisted on the importance of new roads and utilities for the expansion.”

  “And we won’t have a Republic if this affront from the Empire goes unchallenged,” Codex growled. His eyes burned with lust for glory and he vibrated with passion for his new cause. “I will lead a Legion to Sicilia and smash both the Empire and Syracuse.”

  “You’ll drain the Republic’s coffers to do what?” demanded Flaccus, “Capture a sea port across the Messina Strait from Rhégion. Where is the economic advantage in that?”

  “You may be right, co-Consul,” admitted Codex, slumping. “Come gentlemen, we have games to witness.”

  ***

  Once Codex and his entourage departed, Maximus exhaled loudly. “That went well, I guess.”

  “He gave in too quickly,” advised Flaccus. “He’s up to something. I suppose, we’ll find out tomorrow in the Senate.”

  Their discussion was interrupted by the tent flap opening. Tomas Kellerian strolled in, crossed the tent and greeted the group.

  “Consul. Senators. May I present your gladiators,” he announced. “Legionaries, bring them in!”

  The three Insubri warriors had to bend their heads in order to pass through the opening. In the confines of the tent, they appeared huge. One of the Senators, involuntarily steeped back. Only Master Kellerian and Senator Maximus matched the barbarian’s girth, although Consul Flaccus was their height but lacked the mass.

  Alerio inspected his students. They were armored but didn’t carry shields or weapons. He would arm them just before they entered the sand. Even with a squad of infantrymen, it wouldn’t be a good idea to have armed warriors sitting around.

  “Win today,” Senator Maximus informed the Insubri. “And you�
��ll receive a pony, an escort out of the city, and a letter of safe passage to your homeland. Lose and we’ll toss your dead body in the Tiber for fish food.”

  “Seventh squad,” ordered Alerio. “Form double files. Face inward. Salute.”

  The seven Legionaries at the entrance separated into lines and turned to face each other. As Maximus marched down the lines, the Legionaries performed a cross chest salute.

  “Nicely done, Lance Corporal Sisera,” Maximus said before he left the tent followed by his group.

  “Rest. Get something to eat from the table,” Alerio told the squad. “And feed the barbarians.”

  Tomas sidled up beside him and commented.

  “Senator Maximus is impressed with you,” observed the Armorer as he shoved a pack into Alerio’s chest. “You’ve found yourself a patron.”

  “It seems I have,” admitted Alerio as he searched in the bag. “Unless my three barbarians die. Then, I don’t know. By the way, thank you for your help. What was your condition again?”

  “In good time, Lance Corporal,” the Armorer said as he went to joined the squad at the refreshment table.

  While outside, Consul Flaccus began his speech, Alerio walked to a corner and stripped off his armor. With the crowd wildly cheering the hero of Volsinii, Alerio reached into the pack and pulled out a military tunic and a scarf. He pulled the tunic over his head and draped the scarf over his shoulder. Smoothing out the wrinkles, he looked down at the insignias of his prior units and his expertise. Weapon’s Instructor, Legion Scout and Combat Rower were the medals. The units were sewn on strips of colorful cloth.

  Once dressed, he walked to the tent exit and stepped into the sunlight. He wanted to get a look at the arena, the crowd, and the competition.

  Chapter – 10 Funeral Games

  Consul Flaccus, the Republic’s hero, finished his speech to more insane cheering from the crowd. Then he guided two young men to the hillside and the three of them climbed to his platform. It was obvious, they were the grieving sons of Junius Brutus Pera, the honoree of the funeral games. Senator Maximus greeted them with hugs and whispers, no doubt of condolences, into their ears.

 

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