Unjust Sacrifice

by Slater, J. Clifton

Rutri dropped his fist. The low amount of water parted, and the NCO’s knuckles struck the tabletop.

  “Ouch,” Rutri exclaimed. “that hurt.”

  “And that is what your knee bones are doing when you run,” she instructed. “Without the water, they are thumping together.”

  Alerio had been watching the woman’s demonstration. Then he looked around. All the apprentices, interns, and trainees had cleared a space for her. Not only were they back a respectful distance, they focused on her every move.

  “You’re Doctor Allocco?” Alerio asked.

  “I am Physician Frances Allocco. If that is a problem,” she stated in a flat emotionless voice. “The door is over there. Have a good day.”

  “No problem here, ma’am,” Alerio assured her. “You said the difference is a farmer sets his own pace.”

  “The best health is derived from moderation,” Doctor Allocco explained. “Too much wine and you become impotent. Too little wine and your nerves become frayed. The balance is in the middle. Legionaries exercise not just for agility and health, but for war. Their pace is unhealthy.”

  “But what about my knee, Doctor?” Rutri inquired. “I need to run.”

  “First, we’ll drain the knee and see if you have introduced rot when you lanced it yourself,” Doctor Allocco described. “I’ll reserve prescribing treatment until I see. Someone, please lance the knee and show me a sample.”

  Three students descended on Rutri’s knee. One poked a hole in the swollen skin, another slipped a small brass tube into the incision, and the third squeezed the knee and caught drops of fluid in a porcelain bowl. With Rutri moaning from the pressure, the bowl was carried to Doctor Allocco.

  She swirled the liquid, sniffed it, and held it in the sunlight by a window. Then she handed the bowl to an apprentice. He mimicked the doctor’s inspection and passed the bowl onto a colleague.

  “I am open to diagnosis,” Frances Allocco alerted her trainees.

  “I believe it’s clear cushioning water,” one announced.

  “It appeared to be rot free,” another offered.

  “We’ll need wrapping material and a spearmint balm,” Doctor Allocco ordered. The herbalist trainee rushed from the room. “And someone fetch Nicholas, please.”

  The Optio whimpered while the medics squeezed the knee forcing more drops to flow out of the brass tube.

  ***

  To Alerio’s surprise, the absent-minded young man who guided Rutri and him to the clinic came in with the apprentice.

  “Nicholas. Can you build a harness for this knee?” Doctor Allocco asked.

  Nicholas pulled lengths of string from a pouch, walked to Rutri, and began tying pieces above and below the Optio’s knee. Then he attached them with other pieces of string until the only thing without string was the NCO’s knee cap.

  “It’ll take a while, Doctor,” Nicholas stated.

  “Take as long as you need,” Doctor Allocco informed him. Then to her staff, she ordered. “Remove the tube, stitch the wound closed, apply the ointment, and wrap the leg.”

  “What are you planning, Doctor?” Alerio asked.

  “The treatment is to prevent too much fluid from flooding the knee,” she replied. “As always, moderation. We want some fluid there to cushion the bones. He is to harness the knee for strenuous exercise. As soon as he removes it, rub the area with the balm and wrap the knee.”

  “And that will keep the Optio in the fight?” Alerio asked.

  “Only time will tell, Legionary,” Doctor Allocco replied. “It’s like honey. Too much and your belly will bloat. Too little and you’re missing a simple joy of life. Neither good nor bad happens in a day or a week. It’s the moderation day after day over months that pays off. And so, it is the same for your friend’s health.”

  “Oh, the ointment is cool,” Rutri exclaimed as a medic smeared the balm on his knee.

  “Peppermint is one of the herbs we use to soothe the area,” Doctor Allocco described.

  Alerio figured he had done enough for the NCO. He started to say goodbye. Then Nicholas came back, and Centurion Sierra changed his mind.

  It wasn’t the leather binding in Nicholas’ hand, although it was an interesting creation. The reason Alerio delayed his departure was the young woman who walked in with Nicholas.

  ***

  The woman’s presence struck the Legion infantry officer in the chest. The effect of being in her presence hit Alerio so hard he had to lower his eyes. From a vision of her, he found himself contrasting her fairness with the ugly callouses of his hands.

  Soft brown eyes framed by soft brown hair. Then he found his courage, or maybe his senses, and looked up to see if the enchantress was real.

  She was still there. If Alerio’s heart would stop beating so hard, he might collect himself ask her name.

  ‘Do living Goddesses have regular names?’ he pondered.

  ***

  While Alerio tried to sort out his emotions, Nicholas strapped the binding around Optio Gurganus’ knee. When he finished, the Optio stood and flexed his leg.

  “I can feel the support,” Rutri exclaimed.

  “The idea is to limit the amount of fluid needed by supporting the knee,” Doctor Allocco explained. “The wrap and ointment will help when you remove the brace.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” the NCO gushed. “And to you, young man.”

  “This is Nicholas DeMarco, the craftsman who designed the brace,” the Doctor said. “And his sister Gabriella DeMarco, who built it.”

  Alerio staggered and had to hold onto a chair back to steady himself. Then he realized, he had been holding his breath.

  ‘Gabriella DeMarco,’ Alerio mumbled. ‘Goddesses do have names.’

  “Legionary, are you alright?” Doctor Allocco asked.

  “Ma’am. He is an infantry officer,” Rutri informed her. “His name is Centurion Alerio Sisera.”

  “Then you two will leave now,” Frances Allocco demanded. “My hospital has been deemed off limits by Senior Centurion Lubricum. You can get into trouble just for being here. And I for treating an officer.”

  “You won’t treat Legionaries?” Alerio asked.

  “I treat everyone,” Doctor Allocco replied. “It’s the officers who bring trouble.”

  “But you didn’t treat me,” Alerio protested.

  Before he was ready to leave. Now, he almost wanted to fight in order to stay.

  “Sir, we should go,” Rutri Gurganus suggested. “He handed a fist full of coins to an apprentice.”

  Centurion Sisera and the Optio picked up their bundles and crossed to the doorway. Before stepping through, Alerio glanced back to gaze at Gabriella DeMarco one more time. Then they were out of the building and back on the street.

  “The knee feels better than it has in years,” Rutri declared. “I might try for a position in the Legions.”

  “Optio Gurganus, give yourself a couple of days to let the treatment work,” Alerio advised. “Then report to the fleet.”

  “But you’ll be heading for the Legions?” the NCO guessed.

  “No, Optio,” Alerio stated. “I need to see a man in the Capital about making changes.”

  “I don’t understand, Centurion,” Rutri remarked.

  “Neither do I,” Alerio replied. “Let’s hope the man has the answer.”

  Act 3

  Chapter 10 – Proper Authority

  The Chronicles Humanum Inn seemed to never change. For that Alerio was grateful as the Republic, the Capital, and his life had all transformed over the years. Shaking himself out of the melancholy, the Centurion leaned over the horse’s neck, unhooked the gate, and guided the mare through the opening.

  “That’s not a face anticipating a happy homecoming,” a big barbarian suggested.

  He took the bridle and walked the horse to the back of the inn.

  “Erebus. I’m on orders but don’t know what kind of authority I’ll have,” Alerio greeted the yardman for the inn. “But I’ve seen the command and
it’s in trouble.”

  “In my tribe up north, we shun leaders who seek power,” Erebus described. “A man who wants to rule, usually isn’t the best one for the job.”

  “In that case, I would guess no one in the Republic government would qualify,” Alerio remarked.

  “Absolutely none, sir,” Erebus confirmed. He stopped the horse at the back doorway. “I’ll put your gear in a room.”

  “Thank you, Erebus,” Alerio acknowledged while throwing a leg over the horse’s neck. Then he stopped and asked. “If you don’t take the one who wants the job, how do you pick a leader?”

  “Knife fights,” Erebus declared. “They may not want to be the leader, but no one wants to be cut.”

  “That’s barbaric,” Alerio commented.

  “Only from your point of view, Centurion,” Erebus commented. “I’ll give the horse a rubdown and get her fed.”

  “Thank you,” Alerio remarked.

  He dropped to the ground, crossed the yard, and entered the backdoor of the inn.

  ***

  Down a narrow hallway, Alerio pushed through a pair of double doors and emerged in the inn’s great room. On his right, a long marble counter ran the length of the room. Behind the counter, barrels and casks of vino filled the wall.

  The Centurion weaved his way between tables until he located one with a view through the front window.

  “May I take you order, sir?”

  The feminine voice struck a chord in Alerio’s chest. He snapped his head around but, rather than Gabriella DeMarco, it was a serving girl.

  “Stew, please,” Alerio replied.

  “Did she insult you?” Thomasious Harricus inquired. He strolled to the table and rested his hands on the back of a chair.

  “No, Master Harricus,” Alerio assured the owner of the inn. “My mind was wandering, and the serving girl took me by surprise.”

  “You are an infantry officer, a weapons’ instructor, a Legion raider,” Thomasious Harricus listed. “And a combat veteran. You don’t get surprised. So, it’s either you’re feverish or drunk. Which is it?”

  “Neither, I just rode in from Ostia,” Alerio explained. “No illness, and I haven’t had a moment for drink.”

  “Then it’s a woman,” Thomasious guessed. He threw a leg over the chair and sat. “Tell me about her.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” Alerio admitted.

  “Alerio Sisera, I’ve known you since you were a lost wolf cub of a Lance Corporal,” Thomasious informed him. “In all this time I have never seen you smitten. She must be special.”

  “She’s soft,” Alerio mumbled while looking at his rough hands. “Brown hair and brown eyes that seem to have captured light from the rising sun.”

  “Apparently that’s not all she’s captured,” Thomasious teased. “Does this goddess who walks the earth have a name?”

  “Gabriella DeMarco,” Alerio breathed out the name as if saying a prayer.

  “Oh brother,” Thomasious Harricus exclaimed. “Does she have a family.”

  “She has a brother,” Alerio reported.

  “An occupation?” Thomasious inquired.

  “Yes,” Alerio stated. “Except I don’t know what it is. But they make knee harnesses.”

  “They make what?” Thomasious Harricus questioned.

  “Medical devices,” Alerio said trying to think of exactly what Nicholas and Gabriella made in their leather shop.

  “Is she why you are in the Capital?” Thomasious offered.

  The serving girl rested a platter of cheese, olives, and bread on the table. Then, she placed bowls of stew in front of Alerio and Thomasious.

  “No. I’ve been summoned by Consul Gaius Duilius,” Alerio told him. “It has something to do with the fleet.”

  “Consul Gnaeus Scipio, as soon as he could, took two undersized squadrons of seventeen warships and rowed for Sicilia,” Thomasious reported. “The nobleman left all the preparations for the marching Legions and the new warships to Gaius Duilius. There’s a rumor that Scipio is trying to bury Duilius under administrative work. With the new-man tied up, it’s leaves the field open for the nobleman to rake in all the glory.”

  “There’s no glory on a grand scale to be had on Sicilia,” Alerio suggested. “It’s small sieges, ambushes, and clashes. The glory is on the sea and for that, the Republic needs more than seventeen ships. For the Empire, seventeen ships-of-war are just a costal patrol.”

  Thomasious Harricus dropped his ladle and gazed out of the window.

  “I recognize that look, inn keeper,” Alerio pleaded. “You cannot use my name with that information. If you do, the Consul is sure to put me up on the boards.”

  “Not to worry, Death Caller,” Thomasious replied. “Have I ever publicly exposed you?”

  “Yes, yes you did when you put the exploits of Death Caller in your scrolls,” Alerio protested. “You…”

  Then the Centurion noted the smile and the twinkle in Thomasious Harricus’ eyes. The man known as the Clay Ear was teasing. Or was he? Sometimes, Alerio couldn’t tell.

  ***

  The sun had just cleared the rooftops when Alerio’s horse trotted through the city gate. A short distance from the Capital, tents of the Legions’ administration and supply depot occupied a large square. For a pair of gathering Legions, he expected to see tents of Legionaries or at least recruits in training. There were relatively few Legionaries. Most of the ranks he could see were Tribunes or older Centurions.

  “Name and unit,” one of the only tesserarii in the area asked.

  He stood in the middle of the road and in front of a horizontal pole. The barrier was more ceremonial than strategic.

  “Centurion Alerio Sisera and I guess I’m with the fleet,” Alerio informed the junior NCO. “I was ordered to report to General Gaius Duilius.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Corporal acknowledged while raising the pole and opening the road. “Center of the main compound.”

  “I recognize the layout, Tesserarius,” Alerio assured him.

  As his horse moved towards the center command area, Alerio gazed into the supply tents. Some were stacked to the ceiling with gear. In others, he could see daylight through the half empty tents.

  “Reason for your visit?” an Optio asked when Alerio approached the command pavilions.

  The Sergeant eyed the fine tunic, the new red cape, and the new Centurion’s helmet. Another green infantry officer, he thought as the horse stopped.

  “I have orders to report to General Duilius,” Alerio replied. After dismounting, he held out the Consul’s letter.

  “Wait here,” the Optio ordered while snatching the message from his hand. Then the Sergeant turned and walked away. On his third step, Alerio roared.

  “Since when does an NCO disrespect an officer?” he challenged.

  The Sergeant spun and studied the young Centurion. The fingers on an extended arm were opening and closing in a come-to-me motion. With the other hand, the officer tossed back his cape to clear the hilt of the gladius. Flying back, the moving material revealed a scarred arm and badges on the tunic. The Optio swallowed the lump in his throat. Instead of being rude to a new Centurion, he had insulted a veteran infantry officer.

  “Who is in charge here?” Alerio demanded.

  “Tribune Necubi, sir,” the Optio replied. “He is the General’s chief of staff.”

  “Take me to him,” Alerio instructed. “And where is the First Centurion?”

  “He and most of First Century are at the training area in the hills, Centurion,” the NCO reported.

  “First the fleet and now the Legions,” Alerio complained.

  They marched to a tent attached to a large command structure. Inside, they were stopped by a Legionary.

  “Your business, sir?” he asked.

  Alerio examined the sentry. The uniform and helmet were well used but immaculate. And the deadly tip of a spear reflected light off the honed edges.

  “First Century?” Alerio inquired
.

  “Yes, Centurion,” the Legionary stated with pride.

  “I was summoned from Sicilia by General Gaius Duilius,” Alerio explained. “And I am here.”

  “Yes, sir, let me alert my Optio,” the guard remarked.

  Alerio glanced at the NCO standing beside him.

  “This isn’t your Sergeant?” Alerio questioned.

  The sentry allowed a slight snicker to escape before he got control of himself.

  “No, sir. The First Optio is in the General’s quarters,” the guard offered. “That is the Sergeant of Paint.”

  “Art, Legionary,” the NCO corrected. “I am the Optio in charge of honors and artwork to document the Legion’s legacy in Sicilia.”

  “I’ll let the General’s staff know you are here, sir,” the Private informed Alerio.

  While the Legionary braced in front of Alerio, he ignored the staff NCO. Respect was both earned and returned in the infantry. It seemed the art Optio had done neither.

  ***

  Alerio had been in war rooms of Generals. Even those with table maps of land and sea areas. But he had never seen one with markings of supply depots stretching from the camp north of the Capital and tracking to Ostia on the coast. They resembled breadcrumbs left to mark a trail.

  “That’s the fleet,” Consul/General Duilius exploded. He floated his arm over the map. “And those are supposed to be Legions.”

  “But Consul,” a Tribune protested. “We don’t have either.”

  “And if we did have a fleet and Legions,” Duilius pointed out. “we wouldn’t have enough supplies for both.”

  Gaius Duilius glanced up from the map and nodded to Alerio. In response, Alerio braced and saluted.

  “Sir, Junior Centurion Sisera,” he exclaimed. “You sent for me, Consul?”

  “I did. Have you seen the naval facility at Ostia?” the General inquired. “Or did you journey straight to the Capital?”

  “I stopped briefly at Ostia, sir,” Alerio said dryly. Almost as if he had bitten into something bitter.

  “I take it you weren’t impressed,” Duilius suggested.

  “It’s not my place to criticize, Consul,” Alerio replied.

  “Why not?” the Consul exclaimed. He glanced around the tent at his staff. “Everybody else has an opinion.”