All the apprentices and journeymen shifted their attention from the Centurion to their master. Despite his reputation of as a fierce personality, Eburarius fidgeted under their gaze. Finally, he shrugged and allowed a smile to soften his stern features.
“Who am I to deny the wishes of the Gods?” Eburarius announced while looking around the shop floor. “Or those of my people. We will proudly build the brackets, spikes, and bars. And as you put it, allow Legionnaires to stand on bridges in defense of the Republic.”
Amid the cheers around the forge, Alerio took the administration Centurion by the arm and they left the metalworkers area.
***
Alerio allowed the horses to walk back to the corvus ships. He did it because it had been a busy morning and he was exhausted. And, despite his dislike for the nickname, to give the oarsmen, sailors, and Marines along the beach a good view of Death Caller patrolling in his chariot.
What he did not see, was the woman standing on the embankment gazing across the sand at the armored man in the chariot. Nor did he see the expression on her face or the sharp turn, and the tension in her shoulders as Gabriella DeMarco strolled back to her shop.
Chapter 30 – Necklace of Venus
The weeks after returning from the Capital, Death Caller made appearances. Almost specter like at dawn standing in the mist, at all the training areas, plus at any gathering of oarsmen even if not scheduled for regular sessions. Rowers found themselves following Centurion Sisera’s lead doing drills or being tripped and pushed into the sand if they complained.
By the end of the first week, every squadron received three corvus ramps. Equipped with full crews and fifty Marines, the thirty with boarding beams and thirty ships to act as victims, rowed out to practice boarding maneuvers.
Throughout the day, Alerio gave his best, then at night, he went to separate campfires and talked about heroism, tactics, and the responsibility of Republic rowers. Operating with little rest and less sleep, Alerio did not have time for socializing.
Besides, he was shunned when he ate at the officer’s mess and even his weapons’ instructors avoided him when off duty. Centurion Sisera didn’t think about things he missed, unless they were right in front of him. Even then, somethings just did not register. For example, the woman on the embankment.
Gabriella watched Alerio race from one group of oarsmen to another. At one he might fight bare handed or with a pole. At another he would strap on a shield and bash a line of men holding shields. In all cases, he ended up giving a speech. Gabriella had no way of hearing the words. All she could do was judge the reactions to the Centurion’s lectures. From them, she saw the respect the men had for Alerio Sisera.
At the end of each viewing session, she shrugged, squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and traipsed back to the leather shop.
***
“Seventy-five,” the fleet’s Senior Centurion announced. “Sisera, you and your instructors are to be congratulated. Seventy-five warships of the Republic are launching to participate in sea trials. And the other twenty-eight are crewed and waiting for officers. Praetor Sudoris wants to give you all medals.”
“It was a team effort. But give the awards to the instructors,” Alerio suggested. “They were the men standing in one area, taking abuse day after day to create the combat rowing teams.”
“Whatever you want,” Typus agreed.
“But Centurion Sisera has worked harder than any of us,” Hysopum argued. “He should get something.”
“Alright Sisera,” Typus inquired. “What do you want?”
“First Centurion, I’d like a couple of days off,” Alerio replied. He looked at the embankment. And although he couldn’t see the town, he visualized the leather shop. “I’d like to attend to some personal issues.”
“Consider yourself on leave for four days,” Typus informed him. “That should be enough time for you to travel to the Capital, tend to your business, and get back before the fleet launches.”
“We’re leaving Ostia?” Hysopum asked.
“Not you or the other five weapons’ instructors. You have been assigned here to teach new oarsmen about combat rowing,” Typus corrected. “But the General left orders before he marched south. He wants Death Caller with the fleet.”
***
Shaved, bathed, and wearing his best tunic, Alerio strolled into town. His first stop was at an Egyptian’s business.
“May I help you, Legionary?” the proprietor inquired.
“I need a gift that honors both beauty and prosperity,” Alerio described.
“The necklace of Venus,” the Egyptian offered. He reached into a trunk and lifted out a piece of jewelry. “This is expensive but, for the right lady, what price is happiness?”
He held up the silver chain studded with opals. Below the opals, the chain clamped together creating a single stand. On this was a carved disk with a large opal in the center of the silver oval. Hanging below the pendant, another large opal anchored the necklace.
“Note the engraving of Venus emerging from sea foam and uniting the opposing spirits of males and females in harmony,” the Egyptian pointed out details on the disk. “Obviously, the images fit your need for beauty. As for prosperity, the cost of love is steep, and this necklace proves your worth.”
After purchasing the necklace, Alerio left the jewelry shop. Although he stopped at a few stores to peruse the merchandise, he moved relentlessly in the direction of the leather shop. When it appeared a few blocks away, something occurred to him.
As the town grew, successful business owners added to their buildings. From extra rooms to second floors to eye catching façades, shopkeepers improved their properties. Except for the DeMarco’s leather shop. It remained just as it was when he and Optio Gurganus came seeking medical treatment. Somewhere in the lack of progress was a clue to the future. But Alerio had a future in mind and there was no room in his heart or head for another possibility.
* **
“Nicholas, I’m back,” Alerio announced when he strolled into the leather shop. “To make amends for missing the feast, I’d like to bring in dinner for you and Gabriella.”
“An unexpected feast?” Nicholas exclaimed. “I’m sure we can find a God to honor with our drinks.”
“I can think of one,” Alerio acknowledged. His hand touched the pouch with the necklace of Venus. “So, is it a date?”
“It is,” Nicholas confirmed. “I’ll tell Gabriella when she gets back.”
“And I’ll go order the food and vino,” Alerio stated.
He bounced back onto the street, heading for a butcher, a public baker, and a wine shop.
***
Awkward best described the conversation around the dinner table. Between Nicholas’ quotes of ancient wisdom and Alerio’s talk of training men, Gabriella barely said a word.
After dinner, Alerio and Gabriella walked to the edge of the city where the sky above the ocean seemed to go on forever. While she gazed at the twilight heavens, Alerio found himself looking at his feet.
“Gabriella DeMarco. I’d like to call on you,” Alerio mumbled in a shaky voice. His eyes lifted to look on the face of a goddess. “I mean, I…”
“I know what you mean, Sisera,” Gabriella advised. “I feel the same.”
Alerio’s heart missed a beat. This talented and gorgeous woman had just sent a bolt, stronger than one launched from a ballista, through the Centurion’s brain. At the height of his delirium, she smashed his hopes.
“However, Nicholas and I have other plans,” Gabriella explained. “There is a philosopher teacher in Syracuse. Although only twenty-seven, he has accomplished much. After a journey to Alexandria, where he studied with Conon of Samos and Eratosthenes of Cyrene, he has returned to Sicilia. And the word is going around that he is accepting students. Nicholas needs to learn from such a man.”
“You speak of scholars, men of letters, and what is good for your brother,” Alerio protested. “But what about you? A woman like you requires a
man of equal passion.”
“You speak of passion as if it is the only virtue,” Gabriella shot back. “But what could I expect from a Centurion. The ethos of the Legion runs through your veins as surely as it is displayed by the scars on your body. No Sisera. I will secure a place for my brother with Archimedes Phidias and build a gentle life for myself in the city of Syracuse. Waiting for my man to return from war is not a nightmare I can live with. Would you even return? Maybe as a cripple, or if healthy, how long before the siren call of marching hobnailed boots drew you away for yet another campaign.”
“I can change?” Alerio suggested.
Gabriella made a fist, lifted it first to her mouth before extending her fine hand in the direction of the shoreline. Along the beach, one hundred and three quinqueremes rested on the sand. Highlighting the hulls were the campfires of almost forty thousand oarsman and Legionaries. One of her fingers snapped out of the fist and pointed at the Republic fleet.
“I have watched you give sweat and blood to train those men,” Gabriella whispered in a husky voice filled with emotion. “A simple woman can’t compete with such glory. Go. Go now Sisera, your men need you. And I need peace in my life.”
Alerio hesitated. But Gabriella DeMarco turned her face away from him. Her eyes gazed at the sky as if seeing a future far from Alerio Sisera, the Republic, and the Legion.
Arguments and counter points raced through Alerio’s mind. In the end, he marched away as if his pride was intact. But inside, he felt the agony of the worst defeat of his life.
Act 8
Chapter 31 – Launching
Compared to the past several weeks, the beach appeared dark. In the morning before dawn, only one hundred and three bonfires blazed. The drastic change from over seven thousand cookfires was as different as a starry night from one blanketed by clouds.
Three goats roped and staked at each fire stood dumb and unaware of what was coming. Outlined by the flames, the warships’ senior Centurions stood facing an audience of their crews. Behind the crews, the quinqueremes rested on the beach with bows and rams facing the sea.
“Goddess Adiona, we beseech you to see our way home after this season of fighting,” Flictus Savium started the launch prayer with a call to the Goddess of Safe Returns. He followed with an appeal to his ship’s namesake the God of Dread and Terror. “Deimos guide our rowers and ram so that we may bring your gifts to our enemies.”
A rumble of agreement raced through the oarsmen, sailors, Legionaries, and Marines as a sign of pride in their warship. The ship’s senior officer, continued.
“Neptune, God of the Sea, we beseech you for mercy during our travels over your domain. Keep the seas calm, the monsters in their depths, and the birds flying along our route. For a safe voyage from sheltered harbor to sheltered harbor, we give you thanks. And we beg you to keep the storms away and the waters calm,” Savium petitioned the God. Then he raised the ceremonial knife high over his head so the crewmembers could see the blade backlit by the bonfire. “Neptune, Deimos, and Adiona, please accept these tokens of respect.”
Centurion Flictus Savium took a step, bent, and drew the blade across the first goat’s throat. The blood washed over his arm, his hand, and the knife. At the second goat, he repeated the sacrifice. Recognizing the death of its two companions, the third goat backed up to the full extent of the rope. Jerking from side to side, the animal attempted to avoid Centurion Savium.
“That one is spirited,” an oarsman cried out. “The Gods will be pleased.”
In the crowd, Alerio Sisera questioned the comment. According to priests, the Gods preferred ceremonially docile sacrifices. His personal Goddess worked with people near death, usually in bed. Except for the times he felt her on his shoulder guiding his gladius. Then the deaths were not quiet and sedate but loud and chaotic. If Nenia broke her preference for silent reverence, then Alerio supposed other Gods felt the same way. Maybe the oarsman was right, and the lively goat would please the Gods.
Flictus Savium caught the rope in one hand and pulled hard. The goat rocked to the side and before it could gain footing, the Centurion cut the beast’s throat.
“May it please the Gods,” the ship’s Centurion declared. He raised the knife and arm displaying a coating of black shiny liquid in the firelight. Murmurs of respect ran through the crew. Then Flictus Savium lowered his arm and whispered to six men standing off to the side. “Butcher them quickly and get the meat aboard. We need to launch and beat the fleet out.”
“Yes, sir,” they replied.
“First Principale. Get them on board,” Savium yelled. “Third Principale, set your launch team.”
Both deck officers responded in the affirmative before rushing off. One to the deck of the Deimos’ Claw and the other to a spot on the sand where his team could assemble.
“Centurion Sisera, walk with me,” Flictus Savium said to the dark faces of the oarsmen as he walked by.
He couldn’t see features in the dark but suspected Alerio would be standing with the rowers. He was correct.
“Coming, Centurion,” Alerio acknowledged while stepping out of the crowd.
Some of the oarsmen were surprised to hear the weapons’ instructor had been in their cluster. Then they remembered his speeches about him willingly giving up his life for any of the rowers. Sisera said that often, usually just before smashing someone to the ground to teach them how they could repay the unsolicited favor.
***
“Alerio, I don’t want any trouble on my ship,” Flictus Savium advised. He washed the goats’ blood off his arms in the surf. “You and your instructors did a good job getting the oarsman to work together. But it’s my job to mold them into a crew.”
“I don’t understand,” Alerio admitted. “What trouble?”
“Fighting and bullying,” Flictus listed. “I’ve watched you unleash on them over and over. You may have controlled the beach but, once away from shore, I am in charge. I expect you to mind your attitude.”
Alerio laughed then stifled it.
“Centurion Savium, I could explain why I treated the men the way I did,” Alerio rationalized. “But it wouldn’t change your mind or that of the other officers. Let’s just say, I will not cause you or any of your crew a problem.”
And there was the ugly truth for a leader who assumed the role of a madman to reach a goal. The isolation from the other officers left them with one opinion of Alerio. He was a sadistic task master who enjoyed picking fights and humiliating trainees. Only his six instructors and Senior Centurion Typus knew why Death Caller stalked the training areas. Unfortunately, they were being left behind at Ostia. Of course, Praetor Sudoris was aware but, no Centurion could depend on the memory of a busy Praetor of the Republic in a war zone.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Flictus Savium confirmed. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed. “First Principale. Prepare to launch.”
The first deck officer called for the Second Principale. The oarsmen ran out their oars. Then the First shouted down to the beach. In response, the Third Principale moved his team to the hull of the quinquereme.
Savium and Alerio climbed up the hull.
“First Principale, get us off the beach,” ship’s Centurion Savium ordered. He walked to the steering deck to assume his place of command.
Alerio located his gear on the deck and sat down.
“Third Principale, launch the Deimos’ Claw,” the first officer called down to the beach.
Amid shouts and grunts from behind and to the sides of the warship, the flat keel slid along the sand. Then it splashed into the sea and the idled wooden structure became a weapons platform.
On either side of the warship, the orders to launch came from other ships designated to launch early.
The vanguard rowed out, turned to Port, and headed south towards Sicilia. The rest of the fleet and transports with supplies remained on the beach and at the docks waiting for sunrise.
***
A man on the emb
ankment shifted his grip on his horse’s reins. Patiently, he counted the dark shadows of the Republic warships as they slid off the beach. He knew the numbers used for daily training and this launch far exceeded the usual. Besides, the bonfires on the dark beach were the real tipoff.
Confident in his conclusion, the Qart Hadasht spy leaped onto his mount, kneed it around, and kicked the beast into motion. Soon he was out of town and galloping southward.
Hidden on a small creek ten miles to the south, an Empire trireme sat waiting. By dawn, the news about the movement of the Republic’s fleet would send the ship-of-war to sea. In a dash that would leave the oarsmen and sailors exhausted, the ship would sprint to Sicilia and deliver the spy and his report to Admiral Hannibal Gisco.
Chapter 32 – Sightings
Fleet Praetor Sudoris designed the travel formation to mirror Legion attack lines. Three squadrons stacked with ten warships per line guided the fleet. A second and third grouping of squadrons, in the same configuration, followed. The remaining twelve warships patrolled around the transports carrying supplies for the fleet and for General Duilius and his Legions in Sicilia.
Four days out of Ostia, the Consul/General arrived on a trireme with only forty of his veteran First Century. Because of the top-heavy nature of the trireme, the rest of the hundred and twenty Legionaries, sworn to die for the General before retreating, were left in Messina.
At daybreak, the first line of ten warships rowed off the beach. The straits of Messina flowed into the Tyrrhenian Sea only five miles ahead. On the other side of the strait loomed the northern coast of Sicilia. Twenty-five miles from the strait was the Qart Hadasht stronghold of Milazzo. Somewhere beyond the coastal town, lurked the Empire’s Sicilia fleet.
The Third Principale of Deimos’ Claw bellowed a warning, adding gestures with his arms to reinforce his assertion.
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