Unjust Sacrifice

by Slater, J. Clifton

  “Looks like an important man,” the beach guy remarked. He motioned with his thumb at where the Consul had vanished down an alleyway.

  “Sure is,” the oarsman replied. “That’s General Gnaeus Cornelius Scipio, Senior Consul of the Republic.”

  “We don’t see many of his class here in Messina,” the beachcomber remarked.

  “Sure, you do,” the oarsman corrected. “Senator Lucius Flaccus is staying here over the winter. Thus, you see, having a Consul visit Messina isn’t a big deal.”

  “I guess you’re right,” the beachcomber acknowledged.

  He walked away slowly. But once through the alleyway between the warehouses, he sprinted for the Qart Hadasht safe house and his manager.

  ***

  The villas on the quiet street of Messina hadn’t experienced anything like it since the street fighting between the Legion and the Qart Hadasht forces four years earlier. One hundred and twenty hobnailed boots, their right feet stomping on alternate steps, sent sharp reports echoing off the walls and upper levels of the homes. At the end of the street, half the Legionaries of First Century divided and proceeded to circle the villa. The remainder, along with General Gnaeus Scipio and his staff, entered the gateway.

  “Am I to presume that a Consul of the Republic,” Lucius Flaccus inquired from the door of the house. “has stooped to visit a provincial? I am honored.”

  “Spare me, Lucius,” Gnaeus replied. “Until a few weeks ago, you were the Consul. Now I find you retired in a town best known for piracy.”

  “Hopefully in the spring, you will bring your Legions south,” former Consul Flaccus exclaimed. “and I can work trade deals once you make peace.”

  “Is that what you call it down here, making peace?” Gnaeus teased while stepping through the doorway and interlocking arms with his friend. “Are the pickings that ripe?”

  “They are. Show a Legion battle line and the cities come running to the treaty table,” Lucius Flaccus assured him. “You obviously haven’t had time to raise your Legions. Tell me why you’re here.”

  “I left the recruiting and training to Junior Consul Duilius,” Gnaeus said with a hint of disgust in his voice.

  “Do I detect animosity between the Consuls?” Lucius inquired.

  “You and I are Patricians and can trace our noble families back to the founding of Rome,” Gnaeus suggested. “Gaius Duilius is a Plebeian. We have no idea of the origins of his family.”

  “Gnaeus Cornelius Scipio, you glory hound,” Lucius exploded. “You’re afraid Duilius will come to Sicilia and gather medals and honors like bees to a flowering bush.”

  “I am no such thing,” Gnaeus avowed. “But given some early victories, I can get back to the Capital and continue my political work.”

  “Well, let’s dine and I’ll give you the benefit of my experiences from last year,” Lucius described. To his house manager, he advised. “Two to dine in my quarters. And I suppose we’ll have to open the lounging hall for the Consul’s staff.”

  The manager went to the cook shed to alert the chef to the revised evening schedule.

  In a rush to assign staff, the house manager was happy when a pretty servant girl volunteered to be one of the servers for the important men. All she requested was the opportunity to run home and change into fresh clothing.

  With the manager’s approval, the servant left the villa’s grounds. When she was almost home, she detoured and made a brief stop at the Qart Hadasht safe house.

  ***

  Lucius Flaccus and Gnaeus Scipio discussed nothing of importance. No strategies, battle plans, or insight into the policies of the Republic were revealed. Their conversation, spoken freely while ignoring the servants, revolved around the need for noteworthy accomplishments.

  After the dinner ended and the Latians turned in for the night, the serving girl rushed through the streets of Messina. At the safe house, she stepped inside and reported on the dinner conversation.

  “You did good, my dear,” Arnthia the Etruscan told the girl. She slipped the servant a few coins and promised as they reached the doorway. “There are more coins for firsthand information.”

  The servant girl ran home. With the coins from the Qart Hadasht spymaster, and her pay as a household domestic, she had a nice amount stashed away.

  Arnthia the Etruscan moved to her desk, sat and thought for a few moments. Then she scribed a message.

  Admiral Hannibal Gisco,

  We have an interesting visitor come for a stay. The Republic’s Consul Scipio is driven, not by honor but, by lust for glory. Awaiting your instructions.

  A.t.E.

  With bitterness in her heart, the spy rolled the message.

  ***

  Five years earlier, Arnthia had been a happy child living in the Etruscan city of Valsinii. Located on a plateau, the city seemed to have magical qualities. High above the surrounding land, the children made a game of racing around the walls and peering off the mesa, trying to spot caravans or animals. Evenings were glorious as the rays of the setting sun graced the streets and homes long after the lowlands were completely dark. Then, one day it all changed.

  A Republic Legion appeared in the valley below the tall slopes and high walls. To the child’s delight, the Etruscan warriors defeated the Latian army. Although there were many injures, the people rejoiced in the streets and feasted. Unknown to Arnthia, it would be the last time her family would be happy and together.

  A short time later, another Legion arrived. That’s when Arnthia’s father sent her, her young brothers and sisters away with an uncle. Although she never returned to the beautiful city on the plateau, through relatives, she learned the Legion General Fulvius Flaccus had sold her people into slavery then raided and levelled the town. Adding to the insults, the Latians renamed her birthplace, Orcieto.

  Almost savagely, she jammed the message into a holder. Then she waited.

  ***

  The next person at her door took the leather holder, hiked across Messina, mounted a horse, and rode across the tip of Sicilia. At Milazzo, the courier located an Empire trireme. After a quick discussion with the Captain, the ship-of-war launched, and the crew rowed for Palermo.

  Long past sundown, aides to Hannibal Gisco woke the Admiral. Once he read the message from Arnthia the Etruscan, both General Hamilcar and Lieutenant Boodes were shaken from their sleep and escorted to a conference room.

  “We have an opportunity,” the Admiral explained. He held the message between two fingers and waved it in the air. “but I’m not sure how to proceed.”

  “If it concerns the sea, I’d suggest a sweep of your target with your assets, Admiral,” Boodes commented.

  “On the other hand, if it’s land based,” Hamilcar described. “Draw your enemy out of their strong position and onto unfavorable ground.”

  “Gentlemen you are both correct,” Gisco complimented his advisers. “I need a fishing boat and a trustworthy Captain.”

  “I can supply that,” Boodes remarked. “Where do you want him?”

  “At first, Lipari,” the Admiral replied.

  “At first?” Boodes inquired. “After the island, where, sir?”

  “Messina, to deliver some exciting news,” Admiral Hannibal Gisco proclaimed. Seeing the confused looks in the eyes of his senior commanders, he added. “Exciting news for Consul Scipio.”

  Chapter 6 – Fleet in Distress

  Two days later, a fishing boat rowed into Messina harbor. Captain Tarraco jumped ashore before his four crewmen had a chance to pull the boat onto the beach.

  “Where are you coming from?” the beachcomber inquired.

  “We just sailed from Lipari,” Tarraco exclaimed. “It’s good to be away from the island.”

  “Why do you say that?” the beachcomber asked. “I hear it’s beautiful there.”

  “There’s unrest in the streets,” the Iberian Captain, disguised as a fisherman, replied.

  The beachcomber made a show of looking studious. Then, as if an id
ea had occurred to him, he informed the Captain.

  “We have a Consul of the Republic here in Messina,” the beachcomber offered. “The Latian might be willing to pay for that information.”

  “Do you think so, friend?” Tarraco asked.

  “Let’s find out,” the beachcomber said. “Follow me.”

  Along the beach, crews from the Republic warships lounged or prepared meals. Only a few rowers nearby heard the conversation. But oarsman can’t resist passing on juicy bits of information and soon the news of unrest in Lipari spread through the Republic crews.

  Dock workers and warehousemen further away did not hear the gossip. When the fishing boat’s Captain left with the beachcomber, the four men from Tarraco’s vessel spread out around Messina harbor. Soon the port was buzzing with the news about the division on the island of Lipari.

  No one questioned why a fishing boat needed a crew of five or why they arrived at Messina without a load of fish.

  ***

  At the rented villa of Lucius Flaccus, the sentry allowed his arm to fall forward. At the end of the arm, the shaft of his javelin angled toward the man walking down the street. Barefooted and weathered, the man could be anything from an insane beggar to a sailor.

  “Halt,” the Legionary instructed. “This is a private residence. You will turn around and leave.”

  “I was told I could find Consul Scipio here,” Tarraco informed the guard.

  “He is here,” the sentry acknowledged. “Why do you want to find him?”

  “Because the island of Lipari is in revolt,” Tarraco replied.

  The house manager heard the exchange and walked from the villa to the gate.

  “What’s happening on Lipari?” he asked.

  “The council is sworn to the Qart Hadasht Empire,” Tarraco explained. “But a majority of the citizens want the protection of the Republic. I fear there is going to be blood on the streets.”

  “Let this man in,” the house manager instructed the sentry. “Come with me.”

  Tarraco and the manager walked through the great room and into a garden in the back. There, two men in robes sat reading reports. Just off the garden area, staff officers worked on creating more reports.

  “Senator Flaccus. Consul Scipio, this man has news,” the house manager announced. Then he told the Iberian fisherman. “State your name. Describe the situation and shut up unless asked questions. Do it right and you’ll be rewarded.”

  “And if I don’t do it right?” the fisherman inquired.

  “You’ll be crawling back to the docks,” the manager warned.

  Tarraco swallowed and started to leave. The house manager punched his shoulder and spun him back to face the Latian legislators. With his eyes downcast and a quiver of fear in his voice, he began.

  “I am Tarraco, an Iberian fisherman,” the Captain introduced himself. “Thanks to Lugus, the God of the Sun, I own a small fishing boat. Usually, I fish between the islands. Yesterday, when I put into Lipari, I found the shops closed and the streets deserted.”

  “For what reason?” Gnaeus Scipio asked.

  “It seems the citizens of the island want to have the protection of the Republic,” Tarraco explained. “But the council wants to remain loyal to the Empire.”

  Lucius Flaccus shifted in his chair and narrowed his eyebrows.

  “Lipari, an anchor harbor for the Qart Hadasht fleet,” Lucius described. “wants an alliance with the Republic?”

  “Sir, I am just reporting what I observed,” Tarraco pleaded. “If you don’t think the information is valuable, I’ll leave.”

  “Gossip is more like it,” Lucius Flaccus declared.

  “Hold on,” Gnaeus Scipio begged. “This could be the opportunity I’m looking for.”

  “Pay the fisherman,” Lucius instructed the house manager. “And send runners to the harbor and see if any other ships have come in from Lipari.”

  ***

  Messengers returned from Messina harbor with the same report. Conversations on the docks revolved around the revolt on Lipari.

  “I’m still uneasy,” Lucius Flaccus remarked. “Lipari leaving the Empire doesn’t fit with the island’s history.”

  “But, suppose they do want to align with the Republic,” Gnaeus Scipio suggested. “What a great opportunity. With that accomplished, I could return to Rome and claim my honors.”

  “And leave the campaign grind to the Plebeian?” Lucius proposed.

  “My fellow Consul is a fine Senator,” Scipio complimented. “And I am sure Gaius Duilius will be an excellent General for the Sicilia campaign.”

  “While you go to your villa every night,” Lucius added.

  Gnaeus Scipio reclined in his chair and allowed his head to roll back. A long time later, his head snapped back to level and he called out.

  “Tribunes. Get word to the ships’ Centurions. We’re sailing the fleet to Lipari,” the Consul ordered. Then to former Consul Lucius Flaccus he remarked. “It’s too good an opportunity to let pass by.”

  “I hope this is wise,” Lucius advised.

  The staff officers rushed from the villa. Although some warships were beached at Rhégion just across the strait, the rest had traveled to Syracuse. It would take a couple of days for the entire fleet of seventeen ships to muster.

  ***

  Captain Tarraco stood by his fishing boat. Two of the quinqueremes pushed off and rowed out of the harbor.

  “Looks like the Republic has fallen for the news, Captain,” a fisherman offered.

  “Let’s get out of here, Lieutenant,” Tarraco ordered. “Before someone tracks the rumor back to us.”

  Captain Tarraco of the Iberian mercenary company and his staff shoved off the beach. They entered the Messina strait, rowed northward, and were soon out of sight. Their mission completed.

  Regrettably for General Gnaeus Scipio, the message delivered by the Iberian officer was exactly what the Republic Consul lusted after.

  Chapter 7 – Warship Diplomacy

  Shortly after the sun reached its apex, the seventeen Republic warships arrived off the coast of the island. North of the cove, two hills rose from the sea creating a wind break. Curving southward from the hills, the long beach of Lipari resembled a crescent moon.

  “We’re in luck, Centurion,” Gnaeus Scipio said to the ship’s senior officer. “Not a Qart Hadasht warship in sight.”

  “Yes, Consul,” Centurion Semibos acknowledged. “But we are forty-five miles from Republic territory with green crews and untested Legionaries. We should be training them, Consul.”

  “I heard you the first five times you suggested that,” Gnaeus Scipio scolded. “Honor goes to the aggressive, Centurion. Signal for the fleet to land.”

  “Yes, Consul,” Semibos said accepting the order. “First Principale, signal the fleet to beach.”

  “Yes, Centurion,” the first officer stated. Then to his signalman, he instructed. “Beach the fleet.”

  Flags waved and the signals were passed on until all seventeen warships dropped their sails and rowed for shore. Cutting half circles, the fleet of new warships lined up and backstroked for the island. It should have been an awe-inspiring sight. But most of the ships over rotated or wobbled while backing up.

  Before the last keel scraped on the beach, Consul Scipio and his First Century were marching off his flagship. They trudged along the shoreline heading for the town of Lipari.

  ***

  The ten old men at the agora glanced at each other with quizzical looks on their faces. After seeing that none of the contemporaries knew the purpose of the Legionaries and the stranger General’s visit, the council of Lipari faced to the front.

  “I am Gnaeus Cornelius Scipio, Consul of Rome. My fleet is here to put down the revolt,” Scipio announced to the assembly. “Those loyal to the Republic will be protected.”

  “Consul Gnaeus Cornelius Scipio,” a councilman acknowledged. He stood, fluffed his robe, allowing the material to flutter over the bench seats of the
agora. “Welcome to Lipari. However, we are confused. To what rebellion are you referring?”

  “I have it on good authority that many of your citizens desire to shelter under the strong arm of the Republic,” Scipio declared.

  “Consul. I’d like to point out something,” a councilor sitting on the bench across the agora remarked. He tossed the extra material of his robe over his right shoulder. “The Qart Hadasht Empire has one hundred and thirty warships stationed at Palermo. It seems to me, your seventeen are more of a sacrifice to their God Baal than a fleet designed to capture and occupy an island.”

  “I never said anything about an occupation,” Scipio protested. “This is a humanitarian mission.”

  “In that case, you and your aides are invited to dine with us,” the other councilor stated. “Of course, comfortable sleeping arrangements will be provided. We can’t have an honored guest sleeping on the sand.”

  ***

  Runners left the meeting, carrying the message for the fleet to settle in for the evening. But as in all cases of supernumerary personnel, the couriers were eager to report on things they overheard. At the top of the list, one hundred and thirty Qart Hadasht ships-of-war waited at Palermo to pounce. And the Republic fleet was only a sacrifice to Baal and not adequate to fend off the might of the Empire.

  The gossip flashed through the crews of all seventeen Republic warships. It dominated the talk for the evening around campfires and, invaded the dreams of the oarsmen and the Legionaries throughout the night.

  ***

  Gnaeus Scipio woke to cool sea breezes and soft sunlight. He hadn’t found a new ally on Lipari, but he had seen the island limited defenses.

  “Perhaps one day, I’ll return,” the Consul said while swinging his legs out of the bed. Wrapping a robe around his shoulders, Scipio crossed the room to a second story window. “Tribunes! Tribunes come here.”

  The town was constructed at the tip of the bowed shoreline. From the upper floor level, he could see his seventeen warships and the crews spread along the arch of the beach. Nothing on the beach caused his panicked cry. It was the Qart Hadasht ships-of-war floating off the coastline that sent a chill down the Consul’s spine and had him shouting for his staff officers.