“Yes Captain,” a new voice replied. “Are you ready to launch?”
“We are and good luck to you,” Frigian assured the man. Then the door opened, light splashed out and the door closed. “It won’t be long now. That’s if the Admiral doesn’t order an all-out attack.”
“And if he does?” inquired Alerio.
“We wait until dawn to see which side we’re on,” Frigian admitted.
***
“Admiral Hanno. A moment of your time,” a voice spoke from over the wall.
“Stand aside, Son of Mars,” a gruff voice ordered.
“Admiral, Captain Creon has important news for you,” pleaded the man. “It has to do with the plans of the invaders.”
“Let him through,” Hanno told his bodyguard. “What’s this news your Captain has?”
“He has yet to return with the details,” the man explained. “He bid you wait in his Villa. He should return shortly.”
“What news?” Alerio whispered.
“Why, the details of your mission, of course,” Frigian stated as of it was obvious.
“And where is Captain Creon?” asked Alerio.
“He’s several blocks from here with ten or fifteen of his rowers,” Frigian reported. “Waiting for my runner to alert him to the Admiral’s distress.”
“Have Captain Creon come to the Citadel,” Hanno’s voice carried to the courtyard.
“The Captain said the news is urgent, Admiral,” the man advised. “His Villa is right here. And the Captain has provided refreshments for you while you wait.”
Alerio listened but no one over the wall spoke for long moments. All the Legionary could hear was his heart beating in his chest. Finally, Hanno spoke.
“I’ll avail myself of one mug of wine,” he explained. “If Magistrate Creon fails to appear, he’ll need to come to the Citadel with his report.”
“Very good, sir,” the man replied. “This way, if you please.”
Boots and sandals crunched gravel as the unseen group moved off the street and onto the path leading to the front of the Villa.
“Hide in the shadows on either side of the doorway,” ordered Frigian.
Alerio and two of the large oarsmen put their backs against the wall of the Villa. Frigian and the third crewman moved to the other side. As they waited together, Alerio became acutely aware of the rowers’ size. If the Sons’ Captain decided it was in his best interest to turn on the Republic, Alerio wouldn’t stand much of a chance. With no other option, he waited.
“What’s out here?” demanded a gruff voice of one of Hanno’s bodyguards. The door opened and light spilled onto the courtyard.
“The cook shed, a storage building and Captain Creon’s lemon trees. He’s partial to lemon on his greens and fish and…”
“I got it, he likes the taste of lemon,” the bodyguard said quickly trying to shut the man up.
Alerio leaned away from the wall. A short man stood in the doorway. Towering over him hovered a big man who easily looked over the shorter man’s head.
“Oh, it’s more than taste,” the short man babbled on. “Come with me. Let me show you the medicinal uses for the lemon juice and the peels. Most of…”
“No,” the bodyguard said sharply. Then turning his head, he announced to someone in the Villa, “There’s no one in the courtyard.”
“Stand guard by the door,” came a response from a different voice.
“I’ve got to go to the cook shed for the Admiral’s ham,’’ explained the short man.
There was a scuffling of feet before the little man stepped into the courtyard. He carried a large candle in a holder with a curved back plate behind the flame. The plate reflected and amplified the candle light. He walked to a shed in the pool of light and vanished inside. Moments later, he reappeared holding the candle above his head.
As the petite man neared the doorway, one of the rowers beside Alerio peeled away from the wall. His shadow circled around and he came up behind the man with the ham. The candle holder passed to the big oarsman and the little man tripped.
“Oh Gods, I almost dropped the Admiral’s ham,” he cursed. Then he called to the guard in the doorway. “Come here and take this candle from me. Come on, you don’t want me to serve the Admiral dirty ham.”
With the candle held over the short man’s head, the light shown directly into the bodyguard’s eyes. Blindly, he stepped into the courtyard. The giant rower holding the candle brought his fist from below the flickering candle and plowed it into the bodyguard’s chin. As the soldier fell back, another of Frigian’s large oarsmen stepped up, caught the unconscious man, and clubbed him again.
“Should I put the ham back in the shed, Captain?” asked the man.
“No coxswain, keep it as a reward for a job well done. Send a man and tell Captain Creon there’s trouble at his Villa,” Frigian answered. Then to the oarsmen, he ordered, “Lieutenant Sisera will take one bodyguard, we’ll take the other one and Admiral Hanno. Go!”
The order of attack came so fast Alerio hesitated trying to figure out why he was assigned to take out a bodyguard. But he didn’t have time to question Frigian. A big oarsman shoved him in the back and he stumbled towards the doorway.
***
Alerio caught a glimpse of shelves and bins along the walls of a small room. Then he raced down a hallway passing doorways before he burst into the Villa’s great room.
“Protect the Admiral,” growled a big soldier as he drew his sword.
Alerio brought his blade to a high guard and lunged at the soldier. Before the blades crossed, someone kicked him in the side of his hip and he tumbled over a couch. He hit hard landing between the overturned couch and a wall. The tip of a sword snaked around the overturned piece of furniture seeking the Legionary.
Sprawled on the decorative tiles and stunned, Alerio, through half closed eyes, saw the tip, a foot, then the forward leg of another bodyguard. Reaching out, he placed his hands on the side of the couch. Then he kicked back against the wall with his left foot and shoved the heavy couch. It clipped the rear leg of the bodyguard and the man paused to catch his balance.
Alerio glanced around for his sword. Not seeing it, he pushed off the tiles with his arms, lifted and placed his right leg on the edge of the couch, and launched himself at the bodyguard. In midair, he got two hands on the man’s shield. Once his feet touched the floor, he applied torque and twisted the shield. Bending his upper body and rolling his torso, Alerio flipped in a complete circle.
The bodyguard attempted to shake off the turning of the arms by stepping back. But the hands held firm and the rotating body spun his shield as if they were spinning a wheel. With his arm strapped in and his hand holding the cross strut of the shield, the bodyguard had no choice but to bend in that direction to prevent a dislocated shoulder. When he reached the limit of his shoulder, the bodyguard lost his footing and flipped onto his back.
Alerio released the shield and pulled his curved dagger. As the bodyguard kicked with his legs to fend off Alerio and to regain his feet, the Legionary lashed out with the blade. The slash left a deep, gaping wound on the inside of the bodyguard’s thigh. Despite the blood spurting from a severed femoral artery, the man crawled to his knees.
The shield held high against his chest and the sword raised to strike, the bodyguard posed fierce and ready to continue his martial duties. Except he was on his knees in the center of an expanding pool of his own blood. Alerio wanted to grant the warrior a last few heartbeats of dignity. But there was a mission to complete, and he didn’t know how Frigian and his rowers were doing with Admiral Hanno and the third bodyguard. Alerio kicked the shield. The light in the Empire soldier’s eyes faded with a view of overhead beams instead of the sight over his shield of one last enemy.
Alerio stepped in the blood and snatched the sword from the dead but still warm hand. Turning, he relaxed slightly. The other bodyguard was a heap on the tiles. Not bloody, but certainly out of the fight. Admiral Hanno stood crouched
in a corner of the room with a knife in one hand and his sword in the other.
“Now just give up Admiral,” Frigian coached. “You’re out numbered and we don’t want to harm you.”
“By morning, you’ll all be bags of broken bones up on the wood,” Hanno threatened. “Run while you can.”
Hanno equaled the size of any of the three oarsmen. Armed, he posed a danger to all four of the Sons. Without speaking, Alerio raced across the room. Coming from behind one of the big rowers, he surprised Hanno and bashed the sword from the Admiral’s hand.
The Sons stood shocked and their mouths fell open when Alerio stepped in front of Hanno. After kicking the Admiral’s sword out of reach, he tossed his own sword aside. Frigian and his oarsmen weren’t the only ones confused. Hanno glanced down at his empty right hand, at the knife in his left, and up at the unarmed Legionary. A sneer twisted his mouth and he jabbed at Alerio’s stomach.
Trapping the knife hand between his palms, Alerio guided the blade harmlessly off to the side. Hanno jerked it back and attempted to slash the Legionary’s face. But a wrist against the Admiral’s wrist increased the arc and the knife passed over Alerio’s head. Figuring the trouble with his attack had to do with the hand, Hanno brought his hands together to switch the knife to his right hand. As soon as the hands touched, Alerio clamped them together, shoved them to the side, stepped up, and head butted the Admiral. As Hanno staggered and a lump rose on his forehead, Alerio snatched the knife free and stepped back. Two of Frigian’s oarsmen rushed in and grabbed Hanno by the arms. The third vanished down the hallway.
“Truly amazing unarmed combat,” acknowledged Frigian.
Ignoring the compliment, Alerio demanded, “What happened? How did Hanno have the chance to draw his blades?”
“We clubbed the second bodyguard while he was admiring your vaulting abilities,” confessed Frigian. “Then my oarsmen and I forgot about the Admiral when you did the wrestling and gymnastic moves. Also, truly impressive.”
“You forgot about the Admiral?” Alerio asked in disbelief.
As with all auxiliary troops, the pirates had a tendency to wander off mission as their dedication wasn’t up to a Legionary’s standards. As a young lad, Alerio learned the lesson from a veteran Sergeant and Centurion when discussing the use of native scouts and ally cavalry.
“But it all worked out fine,” Frigian announced pointing at Hanno and Alerio. “No one hurt and the first part of our mission completed successfully.”
The oarsman came back into the great room with a length of hemp rope. Hanno protested as the rower began wrapping the Admiral’s legs together. Frigian reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a piece of colorful cotton. He shoved it into Hanno’s mouth as the loops coiled upward bounding Hanno’s arms to his side.
“When will Captain Creon and his rowers get here?” inquired Alerio.
“That’s right, we need to be gone before he gets here,” Frigian replied. “Can’t have him freeing the Admiral.”
Alerio noticed Hanno’s eyes snap open at the pronouncement. The game being played by the Sons of Mars became clear to the Legionary. The Sons would win with the Republic if they spirited Hanno back across Legion lines. Or, they would keep the Admiral and the Empire’s favor if Alerio failed and was captured. In either case, the Sons maintained leverage and trust with both sides.
“Take the Admiral,” Frigian ordered. “Everyone out the back door. Hurry.”
One of the rowers tossed Hanno over his shoulder and strutted down the hallway. The other two followed. Alerio hesitated.
“Captain Frigian. Aren’t you worried if I’m captured, you’ll be tried for murder as well as me?” inquired Alerio.
“Lance Corporal Sisera. You are the only one who has killed tonight,” responded the Sons’ Captain while pointing at the unconscious bodyguard. “The worst case for me is I row out of Messina for a year then when Hanno is replaced, my crew and I row back. Shall we go?”
***
The five kidnappers hustled through the courtyard of Villa Creon, turned left on the street and moved deeper into the block. Behind them, they heard Ferox and his crew noisily approaching from the other direction.
Two blocks from the Villa, a rower opened a door to a storage building and they hurried through the doorway. After the door shut, a flint struck and a candle blazed to life. Then Alerio and two of the oarsmen gagged and almost vomited.
“A death house?” Alerio inquired. “We’re hiding out here in the stink with rotting corpses?”
“It would be worse if the Sons hadn’t rubbed the departed with sea salt,” Frigian offered. “Not as fine grained as eating salt, or enough to pack them for shipping, just enough to preserve the bodies.”
“This is preserved?” groaned Alerio. “On a battlefield the wind blows some of the odor away. Within these walls, there is no upwind side to escape the smell.”
“But the aroma is in our favor,” promised Frigian. “Place the Admiral in the cart, face down. We don’t want him suffocating on a dead thigh or a sluffed off piece of back muscle.”
The rustic wagon had duel cart shafts, higher sideboards than a typical vendor cart, and a layer of straw on the bed of the cart. Hanno was placed on the straw and an oarsman forked another layer over the Admiral. Then four cloth wrapped bodies were tossed on top of the straw.
Frigian handed out rough woolen robes, old floppy felt Phrygians, and squares of cotton fabric.
“The cloth doesn’t block out the smell,” observed Alerio as he placed the fabric over his face and tied the ends behind his head.
“It’s not there to filter out the aroma. It’s there to hide our faces and thin enough so people can hear our chant,” explained Frigian. The Captain adjusted Alerio’s hat so only a little of his face was visible between the top of the mask and the Phrygian low on his forehead. “We will pay our respects to the departed with full voice and stately steps. Open the door and let us proceed.”
“Were the departed Sons, friends of yours?” inquired Alerio as he lifted one of the cart shafts. Another of the oarsmen took hold of the other shaft.
“Them?” asked Frigian indicating the bed of the cart by jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “I don’t know them. Three are Empire soldiers and one, I think, maybe a Republic Legionary, but I’m not sure. We would never treat our dead like this.”
***
The door opened and the procession filed into the street with the Captain in front and two oarsmen walking beside the cart. Alerio and the other rower followed Frigian as he turned northward on the street. Then Frigian and the oarsmen began to chant.
Let all who grieve, chant the Sons of Mars Elegy
An empty bench, an idle oar, our brother’s passed, he’ll row no more
Walk me through Messina dears
A final view of the town I fear
Of the beautiful harbor at sunrise
And the high Citadel at sunset
As I recall good days of cheer
Let all who grieve, chant the Sons of Mars Elegy
An empty bench, an idle oar, our brother’s passed, he’ll row no more
Beg my pardon of the Goddess sweet
Adiona’s light the mariner greets
She’ll guide my shipmates homeward
My journey however is but outbound
Never again her blaze to meet
Let all who grieve, chant the Sons of Mars Elegy
An empty bench, an idle oar, our brother’s passed, he’ll row no more
Launch my ship one final time
Let me taste the salty brine
Let me feel the power strokes
Sing to me the rowing notes
Row me out with lusty rhymes
Let all who grieve, chant the Sons of Mars Elegy
An empty bench, an idle oar, our brother’s passed, he’ll row no more
***
The five hooded and masked chanters and the reeking cart of corpses crossed the main road and moved loudl
y into the northern blocks. All the while they chanted the verses. Citizens and soldiers stepped back from the feeling and smell of death surrounding the procession.
On the second block past the wide road, a Lieutenant and his bodyguard waved for them to stop. Frigian ignored the Qart Hadasht officer’s challenge until they were beyond a lantern’s light.
“In the name of the Empire, I order you to halt,” he screamed trying to be heard over the chant.
Let all who grieve, chant the Sons of Mars Elegy
An empty bench, an idle oar, our brother’s passed, he’ll row no more
“Excuse me Lieutenant, I can’t hear you over the elegy,” Frigian had to shout to be heard over the chanting.
“What is this and where are you going?” the officer demanded as his chest heaved and he gagged. The closer to the Captain and the cart he got the slower he walked and his cheeks puffed out as he attempted to hold his breath.
Walk me through Messina dears
A final view of the town I fear
“We’re giving our dead a last tour of Messina,” Frigian yelled back even though they were only a couple of feet away from each other.
Of the beautiful harbor at sunrise
And the high Citadel at sunset
“We will search the wagon,” called back the Lieutenant. “Soldier, dig into the cart. See if the Sons of Mars are hauling weapons.”
As I recall good days of cheer
The soldier reluctantly approached the side of the cart. Up close, the sweet and poignant odor of rotting flesh overpowered his senses and he hesitated.
“Do it! Search the cart,” shouted his officer.
With fingers holding his nose and his eyes watering, the soldier stuck his other arm over the sideboards and shoved his hand into the straw.
Beg my pardon of the Goddess sweet
Adiona’s light the mariner greets
The oarsman on that side of the cart struck out slamming the soldiers head on the top of the sideboards. He staggered back and the oarsmen punched him in the groin below the armor. Then, the rower punched the soldier on the chin below the helmet.
She’ll guide my shipmates homeward
Brutal Diplomacy Page 18