Neptune's Fury

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Before dawn this morning, you and your two renegade friends attacked this man’s campsite.”

  “I deny the charge. Whose word will you take? A son of Rustia or an impoverished merchant or is he a day laborer?”

  “That’s an interesting observation,” Baccharis suggested. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

  Alerio hadn’t changed his travel clothing. The washed-out woolens could very well belong to a down-on-his-luck mechanic or workman. Anyone familiar with the Legion would recognize the well-tended hobnailed boots, the pugio on his hip, the short haircut, and the battle scars as being marks of a Legionary. Apparently, the Umbrian didn’t.

  “A successful tradesman has his goods in wagons and is accompanied by guards,” Federici Rustia stated. “This poor wretch has only a mule for his minimal load of merchandise or the tools of his trade. Come to think of it, the horse he was riding is probably stolen.”

  Alerio stiffened and began to raise to his feet. The infantry officer was about to apply his trade to the neck of the Umbrian but, Baccharis signaled for him to remain seated. When a Senior Centurion curtly motioned instructions, a smart junior officer followed directions.

  “Young Master Rustia have your wounds and those of your companions been treated?” Baccharis inquired.

  “My throat is minimal,” Federici replied while touching the fresh scab. “However, Cutu Baldoni has serious damage to his knee and ear. And Vulca Luciena has suffered an arrow through his thigh.”

  “Craftsman Sisera, do you possess a bow?” the Senior Centurion questioned.

  “I own neither a bow nor arrows,” Alerio assured him while ignoring the title.

  “If citizen Sisera doesn’t have a bow, who shot Vulca Luciena?” Baccharis asked.

  “I did,” Cutu Baldoni volunteered.

  A silence fell over the Umbrians at the table. It lasted until Baccharis leaned against the backrest of his chair and offered.

  “Then what we have here is a case of mistaken identity,” the senior officer remarked. “I find insufficient evidence of assault against Sisera. And, by his own admission, we know who launched the arrow injuring Vulca. This tribunal is terminated.”

  Baccharis stood and, followed by the guards, left the room. Before Alerio could challenge Federici, a Sergeant marched in and waved for Alerio to join him. They left the Umbrians alone in the conference room.

  “Where are we going, Optio?” Alerio inquired when they started down the colonnade.

  “The administration office, sir.”

  ***

  A junior Centurion and an Optio staffed desks but neither looked up as the duty NCO guided Alerio to a back room. Inside, they found the Senior Centurion.

  “That will be all Sergeant,” Baccharis informed the NCO. Then he handed a mug of vino to Alerio and suggested. “I suppose you have questions?”

  “What happened? I thought you were going to frighten them. It appeared you were more afraid of Federici Rustia?”

  “Not him. His uncle. And I did you a favor,” Baccharis offered.

  Alerio raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Me, a favor?”

  “The unfortunate tribunal, if taken to the planned end, would have made us enemies of the Rustia clan,” Baccharis explained. “I have the protection of four Centuries of infantry and my patron in the Senate is a good man. You, on the other hand, are going to Stifone in Umbria territory without protection. It’s not a major stronghold so chances are you’ll never see Federici Rustia or his idiot companions again. Even so, it’s better if they don’t have a vendetta against you.”

  “But there’s a Tribune and his staff there,” Alerio commented. Then it struck him what the Senior Centurion said about not having protection. “How big a presence does the Legion have in Stifone?”

  “Other than the staff officer? An Optio and a Tesserarius are with him,” Baccharis answered. “No heavy infantry, Velites, or Legion cavalry. That’s why I was worried you’d catch a blade in the back if I pressed charges against the Umbrians.”

  “Why am I assigned to Stifone?”

  “I don’t know what the staff Tribunes has in mind,” Baccharis replied. “But I do know, you’ll be long gone before my doctor releases the wounded Umbrians.”

  “I appreciate that Senior Centurion,” Alerio said honestly. “When do I leave?”

  “There’s a river patrol boat manned and ready at the dock. They’ll land you and your supplies down river on the Nera side. Wait there, one of my scouts will swim your horse and mule over.”

  “Thank you,” Alerio said with a salute.

  Senior Centurion Baccharis started to explain that infantry officers don’t salute each other. Then he realized it was an expression of gratitude. He returned the salute and walked out of the door.

  Chapter 3 - You Are Welcome To It

  The ground was level east of the Tiber and along the bank of the Nera River. At about three miles, the land began to elevate and, although not steep, the hills became higher and the valley’s narrower. After another night under the stars, Alerio hiked into the hills above the river. Keeping the ribbon of water generally to his left, the Legion officer trekked further into the foothills.

  From a peak two valleys away, he caught a glimpse of what he assumed to be the village of Stifone. Stone roofs stood between the limbs of tall trees and a background of high ridges seemed to cradle the building tops.

  Being a trained infantryman, Alerio studied the ground and trails. If the duty in Stifone involved chasing rebels or bandits, this was going to be a mean assignment: physically and mentally demanding on him and his Legionaries. Except, he had no infantrymen. Hopefully, the Tribune at Stifone would have answers and a description of his responsibilities.

  Late the next day, the path dropped steeply to the river’s edge before drifting right and following the Nera River. He led the animals out of the hills and onto a sand bar. The ground beside the river was a solid mix of dirt, sand, and gravel. It crunched under foot and hoof but provided solid footing.

  Stifone sat on the hills where the Nera twisted to the northeast. From the sand bar, Alerio noted the village was nothing more than a collection of buildings on four terraces. The upper ones reached into the tree tops. These were the structures he saw from the summit of the adjacent hills.

  ***

  Alerio tied the pack animal and his mount to a tree and started up a path towards a leather goods shop. The craftsman, who worked hide, dealt with everyone. And the proprietor should know where the Legion detachment was quartered.

  On the second terrace, a door slammed open, two men burst through the frame. The second one slammed the door closed behind him.

  “Then why are we here?” shouted one in a Greek accent.

  “Politics. Everywhere I go. It’s someone wants and, another person doesn’t want,” the second man, a Latian, complained.

  Alerio smiled. It seemed there were two unhappy people in this peaceful mountain village. He continued on the path when the Latian man added.

  “If the Tribune doesn’t believe, why waste our days?”

  At the mention of a Legion staff officer, Alerio raised his arm and called up to the men.

  “Excuse me,” he shouted. “Where can I find the Tribune?”

  “If Nemesis hasn’t visited yet, you’ll find his exalted self in the building,” the Greek replied while jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

  Three things were revealed in the answer. Obviously, the staff officer was egotistical and the Greek expected the Goddess who punishes arrogance to visit the Tribune. Then, based on his straight speech and tone, the Greek was a freeman doing business with the Legion. Lastly, the pair didn’t stop to offer additional help as if they wanted to get as far away from the staff officer as possible. Alerio tried not to prejudge the Tribune but, the observations wouldn’t leave him.

  With trepidation, Alerio changed course and mounted a stone staircase. In most Legion detachments, there were layers of
command. A Private could use a Tesserarius as a shield against a crazy Optio or a Centurion could depend on a Senior Centurion to deflect anger from a Tribune. In Stifone, Alerio was a junior infantry officer assigned to a Tribune. No matter the personality of the staff officer, Centurion Sisera was the next stop for all issues.

  He opened the door to the Legion offices.

  ***

  Alerio walked over the threshold and his mouth fell open. In the front room of the building, he found a Sergeant and a Corporal kneeling on the floor over a game of chance with mugs of vino at their elbows. Three other men, probably locals, leaned in examining the fall of a set of dice.

  “I am sure there is an explanation,” Alerio barked. It wasn’t that he had a problem with gambling. His issue was turning a Legion office into a gaming hall. “But I can’t imagine what would excuse this behavior.”

  The room was mostly bare of furniture except for two desks and four chairs flanking a rear door. Beside each desk was a flag of the Republic and a unit symbol identifying the space as a Legion administration office. It may be in a small village at the base of the mountains in Umbria territory and only a detachment but, the Legion NCOs were subject to discipline and order.

  Continuing, Alerio added, “It’s a good thing I found you before the Tribune discovered this.”

  The Optio glanced up, noted the rough workman’s clothing, and dismissed the stranger. He failed to notice the Legion boots, dagger, and battle scars.

  “You want to see Subausterus, he’s in the back,” the Sergeant remarked.

  Big mistake - NCOs ignored infantry officers at their own peril. In three quick steps, Alerio moved from the doorway to the Optio’s undefended side.

  “We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. Here’s the right one,” Alerio growled as he planted the flat of the hobnailed boot in the Sergeant’s ribs and shoved. The push rolled the Optio across the room. “I am Centurion Alerio Sisera and when I talk, I expect attention.”

  “What is he going on about?” one of the locals protested. “Can we get on with the game?”

  Alerio knotted his eyebrows and stared down at the NCOs.

  “The game is over. Get out,” the Corporal announced. He jumped to his feet, squared his shoulders, and introduced himself. “Tesserarius Ludovicus Humi, sir.”

  “And who is that, Corporal Humi?” Alerio inquired by jerking his chin in the Sergeant’s direction.

  “Optio Adamo Florian. We are the NCOs for the Stifone detachment.”

  “Is that correct Sergeant?”

  Optio Florian hopped up and moved to stand beside Humi.

  “Yes, sir. We are here to show the flag, I guess.”

  “Does that include fleecing the locals out of their wages?”

  “No sir. It’s just we don’t have anything else to do and Tribune Subausterus never comes in here before his morning rub down.”

  “And when he does, what are his orders?” Alerio inquired. Then he suggested. “Good NCOs anticipate needs and get ahead of the day’s duties. Shouldn’t you?”

  “Centurion Sisera. We would gladly anticipate any orders,” Adamo Florian remarked. “But, sir, there are never orders.”

  “Just us standing around witnessing the Tribune argue with Masters Pous and Monilis,” the Corporal commented.

  “Who are they?”

  “The engineer and the builder,” Optio Florian offered. “They just left. You might have passed them on your way here.”

  When the infantry officer didn’t respond, the Corporal questioned.

  “Orders, sir,” Tesserarius Humi inquired.

  “Clean this place up,” Alerio instructed as he walked to the rear door. “And return the coins to the Umbrians.”

  Alerio felt as if he had half a story. With a furious builder and equally angry engineer on his mind, Centurion Sisera marched to the doorway. Pushing it open, he hoped to get the rest of the story from the Tribune.

  ***

  He was reclining on one of a pair of sofas. With a platter of food balanced on his knee, the man nibbled on a sliver of meat held between two fingers. On a table beside him sat a porcelain cup of wine. Three servants stood along a wall ready to refill the cup or the platter. The scene could have been transported directly from a villa’s sitting room in the Capital.

  “Tribune Subausterus. Centurion Alerio Sisera, reporting in,” Alerio announced.

  “You are who?” the Tribune inquired in a sluggish and bored manner.

  “I am a Centurion,” Alerio replied. “My name is Sisera.”

  “I got that part,” Subausterus declared. Almost as if he just woke up, the Tribune came alert and demanded. “The reporting in part, enlighten me.”

  “I have been assigned to Stifone. I assumed, I should report to you,” Alerio explained.

  “You are a Legion officer?” the Tribune whispered.

  “I am.”

  “Teucer. We are going home,” Subausterus declared. One of the servants stepped to the center of the room and bowed. “Fix Centurion Sisera a platter and go pack. We leave at dawn.”

  Seeing Alerio standing at attention in the doorway, Tribune Subausterus waved him to the other couch.

  “What are we doing here, Tribune?” Alerio asked. He sat and a platter of meat and cheese was shoved into his hands. “I mean, no one seems to even know we’re here.”

  “We’re one of several,” Subausterus said before closing his eyes. Then he rambled. “I have horses at my villa. Beautiful animals, strong, sleek and fast. I miss them. As well as my wife.”

  The Tribune fell silent and Alerio attempted to get a handle on the situation.

  “One of several what?” he questioned.

  “Sites. This one is so obviously unacceptable,” Subausterus stated as if Alerio had knowledge of the topic. “I’ll happily leave it to you. The Senate will eventually want a report. If you need help, come see me in the Capital. Or at my summer villa and I’ll have Teucer scribe it for us.”

  “A report on what? Unacceptable for what?” Alerio begged. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “And neither does the Senate,” Subausterus offered while bursting out laughing. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go and supervise the packing. Best of luck.”

  Before Alerio could place the platter on the table, the Tribune jumped to his feet and practically ran to a set of steps in the rear of the room. He stopped three risers up, turned and bent down to look back into the room.

  “The mad idea is all yours, Centurion Sisera,” Subausterus declared. “And you are welcome to it.”

  As he vanished up the steps, Alerio stood and strolled to the exit. He didn’t get a complete answer from the Tribune. But he did get enough information to let him know he needed to chase down the builder and the engineer. Hopefully, the revelation would come from them.

  Chapter 4 - Isn't that great

  Hasty words with Optio Florian and Tesserarius Humi sent the Corporal to tend to his animals and gave Alerio a direction. Outside the doorway, he hooked a left and located the stairs to the next terrace. At the top, Alerio swung to his right and stopped.

  From this height, he could see the Nera river pour through a narrow gorge. It traveled in a sweeping path down to where the river broadened as it passed beneath the village. Then, the ribbon of water angled away in a northwest heading before hooking a left and vanishing around a bend in the landscape. The dry gray gravel he walked when he approached Stifone stood out from the green trees on the banks and the clear water.

  “What did the Tribune find unacceptable about this place?” he remarked to the river valley. “If I knew that, I’d know why I was ordered here.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, the Legion officer followed the path to the fourth house on the left. According to Optio Florian, it was the house rented by the engineer and the builder.

  ***

  The Greek opened the door, cocked his head to the side, and started to close the door when he saw the man in the washed-o
ut traveling clothes. Alerio placed a foot on the threshold.

  “I’ve just come from Tribune Subausterus,” Alerio announced.

  The door slammed into his boot but remained ajar.

  “Non est magnum quod,” called a voice from inside.

  “Isn't what great?” Alerio questioned from the doorway.

  “That you carry tidings from Tribune Subausterus,” the Latian’s voice replied.

  “Does he have another word for unsuitable, impossible, or unachievable?” the Greek inquired. “Because even if you are a bard of renown with a magical command of language, we’ve heard all the negatives.”

  “And nothing that encourages effort,” the Latian added.

  The door opened slightly, then slammed shut on his boot.

  Alerio’s patience snapped. He lifted his left arm and slammed it into the door. As if launched from a ballista, the Greek hurled across the room. Moving fast, the Legion infantry officer came through the door and crossed to the Latian. The man had a knife half drawn. A rough, strong hand stilled the motion.

  “You do not want to do that,” Alerio threatened. Then softening his tone, he suggested. “Let’s all sit down and talk like civilized men.”

  “How civilized? Civilized like I can’t wait to get back to the Capital and my horses,” the Greek scolded.

  “Or so civilized you can’t visualize anything short of a perfect course of bricks or a marble column?” the Latian demanded.

  “You two have spent a lot of time arguing with Tribune Subausterus, haven’t you?” Alerio guessed.

  “Three weeks, give or take a day off from the exasperation,” the Latian agreed.

  “Excellent,” Alerio announced. He walked to a bench where he plopped down as if settling in for the day.

  The Greek and Latian exchanged puzzled glances before turning to stare at the young man.

  “Who are you?” asked the Latian.

  “Centurion Alerio Sisera,” he replied. “And come tomorrow morning, or so I’ve been informed, the officer in charge of the Stifone detachment.”