“There’s always one,” the punishment Sergeant stated. “Secure this man to the punishment pole. He is out of control.”
Shocked by the violence from the docile prisoner, the Legionaries from the escort squad grabbed Alerio roughly by the wrists and dragged him to the pole.
“Make them tight,” the punishment Sergeant ordered as the Legionaries laced up the cuffs. Then the NCO marched up and looped any slack in the lines around the pole.
Alerio hung with his arms above his head and his back stretched. He had no way to flex and bunch his muscles to absorb the lashes. Then a cold metallic object touched his neck before sliding down and a cool breeze let him know the tunic had been slit open.
The crowd grew silent preparing to shout out the number of lashes.
“The accused is bound to the punishment pole,” the Sergeant announced to the Centurion. “With your permission, I will execute the order, sir?”
The Centurion glanced to the east to verify the location of the sun. Then with a blank face to hide his true feelings, he nodded and marched out of the clearing. He didn’t stop until he was two blocks away. Only then did he allow his head to shake at the stupidity of the punishment.
“One!” screamed the crowd.
And the blood bets paid off. Even the distance long shot paid as splatters covered the sand to the edge of the circumference and a foot’s length beyond. After the surprising early bleed, those with good locations inspected Lance Corporal Sisera’s back from across the clearing. They expected a welt. Instead, the raw line resembled a knife cut on an overripe melon. A thin streak of red pulp stretched from under the Legionary’s left shoulder blade to the top of his right hip. But he didn’t call out or scream. The whip rose and cracked down.
“Two!” the crowd counted. This time with less enthusiasm.
A second gouged line ran from under the right shoulder blade to the top of the left hip. Again, the raw pulp of fat and tissue bled. And where the two lashes crossed, four corners of flesh lifted revealing the Legionary’s back muscles.
Cries of alarm were shouted by the attendees and a couple of Legionaries ran into the clearing. The punishment Sergeant waited as the escort squad shoved them back.
***
The Century stood and they flinched with each count. They wanted to vent their frustration but the Centurion, Corporal, and First Sergeant Brictius walked the columns keeping them in line.
Then the sound of a horse in full gallop grew louder from behind them. The horse appeared beside the ranks and reared back as the rider savagely yanked the reins. He was dressed in dirty woolen clothing and even his hair was covered in mud. But his face glowed clean in the dirt wreath. It was the face of their Tribune and he shouted the order they wanted to hear.
“Second Century of Claudius Detachment,” Gaius commanded when he recognized the Centurion. “Rally the punishment pole and secure the area. Centurion, go!”
“First squad and second, forward right. Third, fourth and fifth, forward left,” shouted the line officer. “Sixth, seventh and eighth, draw. Forward right.”
First Sergeant Brictius tucked in behind the First Squad as they plowed a path through the packed crowd. Bodies flew as the infantry shields hoisted people and launched them to the sides. The stomp reverberated off the street and Legionaries in attendance recognized the meaning. An armed unit was on the move. For their own safety, they scrambled to get out of First squad’s way.
When they reached the clearing, First and Second squads began a tight circle to the right. Brictius sprinted directly to the punishment Sergeant who had his arm back for another strike. The First Sergeant hooked his arm through the Sergeant’s and threw the man and his whip to the sand. Then Brictius glanced at the raw meat of Alerio’s back. Without thinking, the First Sergeant drew back his fist and punched the punishment Sergeant in the face.
Third, Fourth and Fifth squads came through the crowd and marched in a wider circle to the left. Following them, Sixth, Seventh and Eight squads, with naked gladii, circled right. Soon the punishment pole was surrounded by three ranks of circled Legionaries. The outer circle bristled with bare blades and javelin tips from the second rank.
The escort squad formed a line facing the Century. Before the Lance Corporal could issue an order, a voice called out.
“Hold where you are, squad leader,” ordered Centurion Sanctus Carnifex. He marched by the squad and stopped in front of the neat circles of Legionaries.
“First Sergeant Brictius. I assume you have a good reason for this infringement on a lawful punishment,” he called out.
“What do you call this, weapons instructor?” Brictius replied. Something long and thin sailed over the Centuries heads and landed at Carnifex’s feet.
Reaching down, he picked up the whip and ran his fingers along the braids.
“Seashells woven into the leather braids,” he offered. “It makes the whip a killing and maiming weapon.”
“How bad is he?” a voice called from the open path. “Tell me, he is fit for duty.”
“He needs a surgeon, Senior Tribune Claudius,” the medic replied as Gaius stepped between the circled shields. “I can’t do much more than keep pressure on the wound.”
“Wound? You mean the welts?” questioned the Tribune.
“No, sir. Lance Corporal Sisera is flayed almost to his spine,” the medic informed him.
“First squad, get me a shield,” ordered the Corporal.
Two pairs of Legionaries placed javelins under a shield. Once Alerio was placed on the makeshift stretcher, the four men stood and marched for the opening in the crowd.
“First Sergeant Brictius. What do you need here?” Gaius asked.
“Leave me three squads, sir,” he replied. “I’ll report as soon as I know what happened.”
“Centurion. Drop three squads and come with me,” instructed Senior Tribune Claudius. Then to Brictius. “We’ll be at the medical tent.”
Chapter 7 – A Bribe and Murders
“That Century performed an unrehearsed rally around a flag,” Carnifex observed as he and Brictius followed the three squads escorting the punishment Sergeant to where Alerio had spent the night. “It’s usually a drill to impress the staff officers.”
“Unrehearsed?” Brictius chuckled. “Every squad in Claudius Detachment can do it in their sleep.”
“How? Why?” questioned the weapons instructor.
“The first time Lance Corporal Sisera taught it, the troops circled in the wrong direction, tripped, and bumped into the other squads,” Brictius explained. “I told him maniple troops didn’t require fancy drills. But the Syracusan cavalry watching laughed at us. Suddenly, the squads were begging Alerio for instructions. What he did was tie javelin tips to the right and left sides of everyone’s helmets. After a few stitches, they learned to circle and form circular ranks. The Syracusans stopped laughing.”
“What do you make of this situation?” asked Carnifex holding out the coiled whip.
“The Sergeant doesn’t know Alerio. Someone had to put him up to the murder,” suggested the First Sergeant.
They were a block from the punishment pole when a Tesserarius jogged up.
“Centurion. First Sergeant. I heard what happened,” he said. “You should know, we took a lot of bets on the death of the Legionary.”
“Didn’t you think that was unusual?” questioned Carnifex.
“For a while but then we got busy. They spread out their bets between all of our stations,” the Corporal recounted. “We discussed it later and realized all the bets were placed by only four Legionaries.”
“Do we know their names?” inquired Brictius.
“No, First Sergeant,” the NCO admitted. “But we know what unit they’re from.”
“If you don’t know their names, how can you know their unit?” questioned Carnifex.
“Because, no other outfit smells as distinct as mule drivers,” the Corporal responded. “And they have calluses between their fingers on b
oth hands. An infantryman only has them on the right hand.”
“Centurion Carnifex. Would you round up the drivers for questioning?” asked the First Sergeant.
“Give me two squads,” Carnifex responded as he handed the whip to the First Sergeant. “We’ll search all of them for betting slips.”
“And I’ll start questioning the punishment Sergeant.”
***
Once in the house and away from prying eyes, the First Sergeant sent the squad to stand guard outside. His instructions. Let no one in and keep the presence of the Sergeant a secret.
“We’d be happier taking him to the harbor and pushing him off the dock, for what he did to Lance Corporal Sisera,” the squad leader suggested as he herded his Legionaries out of the house. “But first we’d tie him to a very large stone.”
“A vivid description. Are you an educated man? Did you study theater in the Capital, by chance?” Brictius inquired. “Or maybe elocution and the mysteries in Athens?”
“No, First Sergeant, I didn’t,” the squad leader responded.
“Then leave the matter to me and Centurion Carnifex,” urged the First Sergeant. “Go see to your squad and mind the orders.”
“Yes, First Sergeant,” the Lance Corporal said as he walked out of the house.
When the door closed, the punishment Sergeant exhaled loudly.
“Thanks for getting me out of there, Brictius,” the Sergeant said. “When that Century circled, I feared for my life. And imagine that squad leader mouthing off about an Optio like that. If I had him on my post, he’d learn to keep a civil tongue in his mouth. How long do you think I’ll be here before it’s safe to go back to my transportation Century?”
“Why do you suppose the infantrymen came in and surrounded the punishment post?” Brictius asked.
“Some confusion between the command staff, I imagine,” the Sergeant replied.
“Yes, it must have been,” Brictius agreed holding out the whip. “While we’re waiting for Centurion Carnifex, explain this.”
“It’s what the messenger wanted,” the punishment Sergeant informed him. “Make Sisera bleed for what he did to Tribune Eutropius. And if the Lance Corporal dies, no one will care. Legionaries sometimes die on the punishment post.”
In his career with the Legion, First Sergeant Brictius had killed barbarians, pirates, thieves and even another Legionary in a knife fight. But the idea that a punishment Sergeant would willfully murder a Legionary went against his sense of honor.
“This messenger, did he come from Tribune Eutropius?” Brictius inquired.
“I don’t know,” admitted the punishment Sergeant. “One of my Privates was contacted and given the message.”
“Then how did you know it came from the command staff?”
“The sack of coins,” the NCO boasted. “A big sack of coins doesn’t accompany a message unless it’s a serious matter and from a wealthy noble. Now Brictius, I’ve answered your questions. When can I get out of here?”
“It’s First Sergeant Brictius and you aren’t going anywhere,” the Senior NCO explained. “And I suggest you sit down before I knock you down.”
“I don’t understand,” the punishment Sergeant begged.
“No, you don’t,” replied Brictius.
***
A Legionary walking guard at the back of the Citadel turned a corner and began to pass the staff officers area.
“Private Hippolytus. Come into my office,” Maris Eutropius called from his desk.
The Private stopped and looked around. His Lance Corporal from the Tribune’s protection squad would be angry if he left his post. But the staff officer had ordered it. Deciding Eutropius had the authority and seeing as no one was watching, the guard marched into the room. Standing stiffly in the center of the Tribune’s office, the Legionary didn’t make eye contact with the aloof staff officer.
“Sir. What do you need?” the Private asked.
“Come closer to my desk,” urged Maris with a wave and a smile.
Hippolytus marched to the desk and bent forward.
“Sir, if it’s about the message,” he whispered. “It was delivered as well as the coins.”
“To a friend of yours?” Maris inquired.
“No sir. Just like you instructed, I found one of the punishment Sergeant’s Century and passed the message and coins to him,” Private Hippolytus reported. “I caught him alone and no one saw us.”
“Excellent work, Private,” Maris gushed.
“There is one thing,” admitted the Legionary. “The man asked why. I couldn’t think so I told him it was payback for Sisera attacking you.”
Maris Eutropius’ jaw clenched down and his hands closed into fists. Once the anger passed, he reached out and picked up a mug of wine.
“Of course, you can’t think,” Eutropius delivered the backhanded compliment with a wink. Then Maris offered a mug to Hippolytus. “Have a drink with me to celebrate the successful completion of our mission.”
The confused Private took the mug and held it at waist height. In the weeks his squad had guarded the Tribune, the staff officer hadn’t spoken to any of the Privates. Until the mission. And then only to him. Now, the Tribune wanted to drink a toast.
“Come on Private. Drink up,” urged the Senior Tribune. “I’ve never seen a real Legionary pass up a drink of fine vino.”
“If you say so, sir,” Hippolytus responded while lifting the mug to his mouth. He gulped it down thinking it was a far better vintage then he was accustomed to drinking. “It’s excellent sir.”
“Yes, it is,” Maris stated as he watched the Private drain the mug. As he placed the empty vessel on the desk, the Senior Tribune noted the missing ear on the Private’s left side. Briefly, Maris wondered about the wound, before commanding. “Now, get back to your duties. And remember, say nothing about the mission.”
“Upon my life,” promised Private Hippolytus. “You have my word, sir.”
“I’m sure I do,” Tribune Maris Eutropius replied.
***
While First Sergeant Brictius hid his feelings as he questioned the punishment Sergeant, Centurion Sanctus Carnifex didn’t.
“What is the Sweet Butcher doing here?” asked a wagon driver as Carnifex marched into the transportation area with a squad of infantrymen.
“I don’t know. But whenever the weapons instructor shows up, it’s never good,” another driver replied.
The Centurion stopped in the center of the yard. Soft, churned-up dirt where wagons and mules crossed, sank under his boots. After signaling the squad to spread out around the area, he put his hands on his hips and glared around.
“Transportation Century, form up, on me” he bellowed.
A Centurion and Corporal came rushing from a building.
“Now see here, Sanctus,” the officer began.
But the Legion’s weapons instructor grabbed him by the shoulders, pulled him close and put his lips beside the transportation officer’s ear.
“This is trouble that might go up to the General’s staff,” whispered Carnifex. “I suggest, you go back to your office and make busy with your scrolls.”
Visibly shaken, either from the rough physical contact or the idea of dealing with staff issues, the Centurion turned to go.
“Corporal. Come with me,” he ordered.
“No. Your Tesserarius stays here,” Carnifex informed the Centurion.
The transportation officer was an old campaigner nearing mandatory retirement age. If he lost his position in Caudex Legion, he probably wouldn’t find another Legion to recruit him. In his younger days, he might have disputed the challenge to his leadership. But, Sanctus Carnifex understood personal combat and knew death intimately. Whatever the trouble, he’d let the weapons instructor sort it out. For now, he’d seek the sanctuary of his office.
“Corporal. I’m looking for four of your men,” Sanctus stated as the mule drivers and transportation personnel shuffled into the yard. “Let me know if any of yo
ur troops are missing.”
“Yes, sir,” the NCO replied. Then he ordered. “Transportation Century, form up on me.”
More men came from stables, tents, and warehouses commandeered by the Legion. When the flow of men stopped, the Tesserarius began looking over the assembly.
“There are eleven missing,” he announced. “Two are at medical. And five are on assignment delivering supplies to the defensive lines. I don’t know about the other four.”
From between the tents, two men appeared. An infantryman nudged a mule driver with the tip of his gladius. The mule driver looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else except marching towards the weapons instructor and the Corporal.
“This one tried to sneak out the back of a tent,” the infantryman exclaimed. “The Lance Corporal found a betting slip on him.”
As they approached the center of the yard, Sanctus reached out and took the mule driver by the throat and drew his dagger.
“Can you handle a mule team with one eye?” he inquired.
“Yes, Centurion,” the man replied.
“Good. Because I wouldn’t want to short the Legion a man while we’re in contact with the enemy,” Carnifex explained. “I’m going to ask you a question, then I’m going to carve out your eyeball.”
“Wait, weapons instructor,” the man begged. “Don’t you mean, if I don’t answer, you’ll take my eye?”
“No. If I have to work to get information about the mistreatment of Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera, I’m taking an eye as payment for my labor,” Carnifex stated.
“It was Caratcus’ idea to place the death bets,” the wagon driver blurted out. “He claimed he had a message and coin for the punishment Sergeant to hurt Sisera, bad. Knowing our Sergeant, we figured the odds of the Legionary dying were worth the coins ventured.”
“And where is Caratcus?” demanded the Corporal.
“I don’t know, Tesserarius,” the driver replied. “After the infantry surrounded the Sergeant at the punishment post, we ran back here.”
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