Brutal Diplomacy

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Brutal Diplomacy Page 17

by J. Clifton Slater


  “I have good news and a request,” Frigian responded holding out his hands as if they were scales. He waffled them up and down each in turn.

  “I could use some good news,” Claudius suggested.

  “Among the wounded prisoners from last night’s activity, you have a Lieutenant,” Frigian said as he raised one hand higher and paused. As he continued, he lifted the hand over his head. “And sub-commander Barca.”

  “Two Empire officers,” Claudius replied flatly. “I wasn’t aware, but what of them.”

  “Oh, my dear, Tribune. Barca is the number two officer in Hanno’s detachment. That’s if you don’t count Gisco and nobody does,” Frigian explained. “And the Lieutenant is the eldest son of an important family. Two, honey sweet, royal hostages. Now, Tribune, if you find them a nuisance, the Sons of Mars will gladly take the pesky officers off your hands.”

  “No Captain. I believe I’ll hold onto them,” Claudius explained than asked. “You have a request?”

  “When armies battle, the fields will flourish after the trampling and the grass will regrow,” Frigian began. “But in a town, the trampled are the women, children and the old.”

  “I wasn’t aware of any civilian casualties,” pleaded Claudius. “But, this is war. Have them stay inside.”

  “That’s the problem, Tribune. They have been inside and are running out of food, water, and some require medical attention,” Frigian informed the Legion officer.

  “Those in areas controlled by the Republic are free to come out,” offered Claudius.

  “Unfortunately, the farms are beyond the west gate and many of the fishermen live in Empire sectors,” explained Frigian. “If you could see your way to speaking with Admiral Hanno…”

  Claudius held up the palm of his hand and exclaimed, “What makes you think Hanno will talk with me?”

  “The Admiral is a nobleman and a military man, but his family are traders,” Frigian informed him. “All the Qart Hadasht aristocrats are in business. Maybe you and the Admiral can reach an agreement? I’ll be there to help in any way I can. As a matter of fact, the Sons have in our possession a large Egyptian tent. We will erect it on an empty lot between your two lines. See, I’m helping already.”

  Claudius thought silently before replying, “I’ll send a message. And if Hanno agrees to a parley, you may attend on one condition.”

  “And, what would that be, Tribune?” Frigian asked.

  “You don’t say a word during the negotiations,” warned Claudius. “One word, one whisper, or sound from you, and I’ll walk out. Is that clear?”

  “Tribune Claudius. My Lieutenant and I will be so quiet, you’ll forget we’re there,” promised the Sons of Mars’ Captain.

  ***

  At the same time Frigian walked the stairs to Temple hill, Ferox Creon strolled to the top of Citadel hill.

  “I am Captain Ferox Creon, the new leader of the Sons of Mars,” explained Creon to the duty officer. “And by rights, the Magistrate of Messina. I’d like to talk with Admiral Hanno.”

  “Stay there,” instructed the Lieutenant. He walked to a door, rapped, opened it and leaned inside. After a few words, he returned to his desk. “The Admiral will see you.”

  Creon strutted through the doorway and walked briskly to Hanno’s desk.

  “Admiral, good morning. I am Ferox Creon, the new leader of the Sons of Mars,” he announced. “Before you say anything, the crews who have thrown in with the Republic are renegades. Disavowed by the Sons who are loyal to the Empire.”

  “You mean all the damage to my soldiers have been from a few dirt farmers?” sneered Hanno. “All right, let’s say you represent the Sons of Mars and they are loyal. What do you want?”

  “Our businesses and trade are suffering from the invasion,” explained Creon. “Farmers can’t get their produce to market, ships can’t row into the harbor to barter, and local craftsmen are unable to ply their trade.”

  “And that is the Empire’s fault?” inquired Hanno. “If you want Messina open for business tell the invaders to leave.”

  “Very astute of you, Admiral. That’s exactly the reason I came to see you,” Creon said with a smile. “The loyal Sons of Mars would appreciate it if you’d parley with Tribune Claudius.”

  “What makes you think he’ll meet with me?” inquired Hanno.

  “Claudius is a farmer as you’ve pointed out. What do farmers enjoy more than talking about the weather and haggling over everything?” Creon stated. “The Sons happen to have a fine Egyptian tent we picked up in our travels. Let’s say we erect it on an empty lot between the Empire sector and the block temporarily occupied by the invaders. I would, as the Magistrate, make myself available to assist in any way you require.”

  “I will send an inquiry to the Tribune,” Hanno promised. “But there is a stipulation.”

  “Please Admiral, name it,” begged Creon.

  “During the conference, you will not utter a sound,” warned Hanno. “If I hear a resonance from your throat, I will walk out.”

  “Admiral, you have my word that my Lieutenant and I will say nothing,” Creon assured him.

  ***

  Tribune Claudius,

  The merchants of Messina are greatly inconvenienced by your presence. I propose we discuss your withdrawal at the apex of the sun. The Sons of Mars will provide a tent for our talk.

  Admiral Hanno of the Qart Hadasht Empire

  ***

  Admiral Hanno,

  The people of Messina suffer from your continued resistance to the inevitable. If you are agreeable, I suggest we meet in the tent provided by the Sons of Mars and celebrate a midday repast.

  Gaius Claudius, Tribune of Codex Legion, representative of Consul Appease Clodus Codex, Consul Marcus Fulvius Flaccus, and the Senate of the Republic, and citizen of the Republic

  ***

  The sun lingered high overhead. While most of Messina sought shade to enjoy the midday breeze, the wide center road hosted two small military parades.

  Tribune Claudius and Senior Centurion Valerian marched up the grade. Behind them came a squad of Legionaries in perfect step with their equipment cleaned and polished. They represented excellent examples of the Republic’s finest.

  Admiral Hanno and Lieutenant Maharbaal marched down the grade. Close behind and moving in unison, followed a squad of Soldiers. Their equipment also shined and oiled to display the best of the Empire.

  From opposite directions, the small displays of military pride converged on the billowing tent of Egyptian cotton. Layered with overlapping sheets of blue and yellow, the tent allowed air flow while providing privacy for the occupants. As the military participants approached the lot where the tent was pitched, two other parties emerged from buildings to the west and east. Unlike the men in armor with swords and gladii, the Sons of Mars wore loose tunics without blades.

  Ferox Creon and Gallus Silenus angled to reach the tent’s entrance flaps before Admiral Hanno and his contingent. Across the lot, Milon Frigian and Alerio Sisera moved diagonally to intercept Tribune Claudius and the Senior Centurion.

  “Admiral Hanno, my I present my Lieutenant Gallus Silenus,” Creon said as he held the flap back so Hanno and Maharbaal could pass to the interior.

  “Tribune Claudius, may I present my Lieutenant, Alerio Sisera,” Frigian said with a knowing smile. As Claudius and Valerian entered the tent, the Senior Centurion twisted his head when he was inside to stare back at the Lance Corporal.

  A large table sat in the center of the space with two chairs on either side and one chair on each end. Small tables with covered dishes took up the four corners of the tent.

  “Gentlemen, the food will come from all the dishes and be served by our Lieutenants,” explained Creon. “The wine on the table is also communal. Please sit.”

  Hanno and Claudius took chairs and sat glaring at each other. A bruised Maharbaal settled across from Valerian but refused to look at him. Frigian and Creon selected chairs at the ends of the table. Th
ey also didn’t look at one another. Mistrust, prejudice, and hate permeated the atmosphere in the tent.

  Alerio and Gallus picked up plates. They went to each food station and placed slices of lamb, a pile of olives, pieces of goat cheese, a dollop of honey, and chunks of bread on the plates. After setting the dishes in front of the officers of the Republic and the officers of the Empire, Gallus filled three mugs with wine before handing the pitcher to Alerio. He filled three mugs and the two honorary Lieutenants stepped away from the table.

  Tribune Claudius reached out, ripped off a piece of bread, dipped it in the honey and bit off the dripping edge. A satisfied smile creased the Tribune’s face as he chewed. Maharbaal’s hand lifted towards his bread but a sharp turn of Hanno’s head froze the young nobleman.

  “I am here to talk. Not to dine with my enemy,” Hanno stated shifting his eyes back to Claudius.

  “Is there anything preventing us from doing both?” inquired the Tribune as he plucked an olive and a piece of cheese from his plate. With the food held just in front of his mouth, he commented, “I don’t know about you but I’ve missed meals and haven’t had a good night’s sleep in days.”

  “I sleep as if I were a baby in the arms of my nurse,” Hanno bragged. “It’s your disrespect to the Empire that troubles your sleep.”

  “Actually, it’s the attacks led by your brave officers, like your young Lieutenant there, that keeps me up,” admitted Claudius. “They are quite persistent.”

  Maharbaal dipped his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. Again, Hanno jerked his head to the side, silently chastising his Lieutenant.

  “I command the forces of the Empire,” Hanno said defensively. “And I will drive you from Messina.”

  Senior Centurion Valerian selected a slice of lamb and took a bite.

  “That’s wonderful,” he gushed. “What spice is that I taste?”

  No one replied for long moments. Then, Maharbaal mumbled, “Cinnamon from Egypt.”

  “Cinnamon? I’ve never had this cinnamon before,” the Senior Centurion exclaimed.

  “And, you never will again,” Hanno observed. “It’s rare and expensive. Fit only for Kings and Emperors. The Empire is widespread. We trade with many lands. And the navy and soldiers of the Empire protect the trade routes. Just as we protect Messina.”

  “Not to be too indelicate, but your forces only control half of the town,” pointed out Claudius. The Tribune took as bite of lamb and nodded appreciatively.

  “I will drive you back across the Strait,” declared Hanno. “And perhaps, I’ll bring in the fleet. Then, I’ll sweep the coast on the other side, free of the blight of your Republic.”

  Claudius had been pleasant trying to open a dialogue with the Qart Hadasht Admiral. But his patience wore out. He let the slice of lamb slip from between his fingers and the spicy meat slapped onto the plate. Squaring his shoulders, Claudius stared into Hanno’s eyes.

  “You might push us from the streets of Messina. It will cost you greatly,” the Tribune said with his teeth clinched in anger. “And on the beach, beneath the flames and smoke of your burning Triremes, we will drain the blood of your soldiers. And not until my last Legionary is surrounded by dead Qart Hadasht noblemen, will the gladius fall from his hand. But, know this, you will never push us back across the strait.”

  Admiral Hanno’s big hand slammed onto the tabletop and he jumped to his feet. Lieutenant Maharbaal rushed to catch up as the Admiral vanished through the tent’s flap. Ferox Creon and Gallus Silenus hurried after them.

  “You didn’t mention sub-commander Barca, sir,” questioned Senior Centurion Valerian.

  “You don’t display your best bargaining token unless you are negotiating,” replied Claudius. “The Admiral never opened the table for ideas. Nor did he eat.”

  The Tribune picked up the piece of savory lamb and took a bite.

  “Captain Frigian. And Sisera, whatever title you have today. There are two untouched plates of excellent food going to waste,” Claudius noted. “Sit, eat, and keep up your energy. You’ll need it. You’re going to have a busy night.”

  “A busy night, sir?” inquired Alerio as he sat across from Valerian.

  “Yes. You’re going to cut the head off the snake, so to speak,” replied the Tribune. After taking a sip from his mug, he declared, “This wine is excellent.”

  Chapter – 35 Bargaining Tokens

  Nine Legionaries shuffled into position at the intersection. By feel, they settled into a line and their squad leader whispered, “Draw!” Ten gladii slid free and he commanded, “Forward.” They started across the intersection. If it was daylight, other squads would have laughed as they lifted their feet and, as quietly as hobnailed boots would allow, moved out. High steps replaced the Legion stomp and soon, the squad filled the street between the compound walls. Behind the squad, five men in Empire armor also walked softly as they followed.

  Whether it was the soft clap of boots on pavers, the jingling of armor, or simply shapes closing in from the dark, the Empire soldier on watch spotted the squad. Shouting a warning, he grabbed his shield, pulled his sword, and positioned himself in the center of his intersection. Standing alone, as an ancient hero in the tales of lore, he waited for the rush and the blades to cut him down. The charge never came.

  The alert removed the need for stealth and the ripple of ten boots stomping loudly echoed off the walls. “Shields,” the Legion squad leader shouted. But he didn’t call for an advance or order a quick march. Instead, the squad moved forward at a pace giving time for Qart Hadasht troops to join the lone brave soldier.

  In the campfire light that only illuminated the center of the opposing squads, the Legionaries and the Empire soldiers clashed together.

  “Lateral left,” ordered the squad’s Lance Corporal. “Keep your end contained.”

  As the Legionaries’ line wheeled left pushing the soldiers back and to the side, a gap opened. The five men in Empire armor slipped through the opening on the Legionaries right. Once beyond the skirmish line, they circled around behind the soldiers. They added their voices to the shouting, encouraging the soldiers and calling for reinforcements. And although their blades were clear of the scabbards, the only thing their five blades cut was the air over their heads.

  “Wheel back, step back,” the squad leader ordered. “Stay tight. Step back.”

  The big Legion shields protected the Legionaries but in the dark, a blade could sneak in and do damage. Two squad members stumbled. Fortunately, the embers of the scattered campfire provided enough light to see the injured men falter.

  “Form two ranks,” ordered the squad leader as he reached out and pulled one of the wounded to the rear. “Step back. Step back.”

  The other hurt Legionary was shoved to the rear by a squad mate. In a tight two rank formation, the squad hacked and chopped in a fighting withdrawal. Shadows in both intersections announced the arrival of additional fighters from both sides. Once the squad had moved a quarter of the way down the street, they were joined by more Legionaries. With the dark street full of invaders, the Qart Hadasht soldiers opted for setting a defensive line rather than pursuing the Legionaries.

  As the distance between the warring factions grew, the tension lifted and the soldiers relaxed. With more Empire troops rushing to the intersection, the five men in the Qart Hadasht armor drifted against the flow and edged their way up the street and away from the intersection.

  ***

  “That went better than I expected,” commented Milon Frigian as he guided the other four through a gate and into a walled courtyard.

  “But will he come?” Alerio asked while pulling off the high, conical helmet.

  “You have Barca. And my sources tell me Gisco is with the soldiers defending the south wall,” replied Frigian. “The Admiral, by his own admission, is in charge of the Empire forces. How could he refuse the invitation issued by your Legionaries?”

  “In the Legion, the commander would send a Centurion to inves
tigate the skirmish,” mused Alerio.

  “Your Legion has a command structure that stretches down to the squad level,” Frigian pointed out. “The Empire depends on mercenary troops. Don’t get me wrong, the soldiers are loyal to the Empire. And they follow the orders of their Lieutenants. But command and control are from the top. Admiral Hanno will come to investigate the hostility. There’s no one else with the authority to respond.”

  “I don’t understand Captain Ferox Creon and Capitan Gallus Silenus being at the negotiations,” questions Alerio. “Have they sided with the Empire?”

  “Lieutenant Sisera, we are the Sons of Mars,” Frigian said with a laugh. “We are on the side that wins. This is Captain Creon’s courtyard.”

  “His courtyard?” asked Alerio looking around the black space as if he could see something. “What does he have to say about our mission?”

  “If we pull this off and get away, he’ll curse us,” advised Frigian. “If we fail, he’ll turn you over to the Qart Hadasht to be crucified.”

  “And that’s why you volunteered you, and your men, for the mission?” inquired Alerio although he already knew the answer.

  “Don’t worry Lieutenant. The Sons owe you and we’ll do our best to get you back to the Tribune unstretched on the wood,” Frigian assured him. Then, to the side, he talked to the three huge rowers that accompanied them. “Someone, climb on a box and watch over the wall. The rest of you get some sleep.”

  Alerio leaned his back against the wall and sank to the ground. He wanted to rest, but the new cost of failure kept him awake. It would have been a short nap anyway. Boots running on the street carried over the wall and he tried to get a feel for the size of the force.

  A voice from near the top of the wall spoke from the dark, “The Admiral has graced us with his presence.”

  Moments later a door opened, light flashed as someone stepped quickly through. The door shut and darkness returned to the courtyard. Alerio jumped to his feet and pulled a sword. Frigian must have heard him draw the blade.

  “Relax, Lieutenant. He’s one of my crew,” Frigian advised. “Are we ready?”

 

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