Neptune's Fury

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Hold the pole tight, Sergeant,” Tite warned. “If either of us releases our end of the pole in the river, this fine buck will float away. And rather than a feast for us, it’ll be fish food.”

  “Don’t you worry, I have my end,” Florian replied. “You just take care of your end.”

  “Hold,” Tite snapped.

  “I heard you the first time,” Florian bristled.

  “No Optio, stop and look,” Tite pointed down the riverbank at a running figure. “He’s one of our militia.”

  The man’s feet ground the grass and left deep prints in dirt patches. His heavy gait and driving legs left no doubt he carried important news. When he spotted them, the runner increased his kick and closed in on his Lieutenant and the Optio’s location.

  “Report,” Florian ordered.

  “Early this morning, armed Legionaries fell upon Stifone,” the man described while pulling off a woolen cap. “We started to form a defensive line but Tesserarius Humi ordered us to lay down our swords and shields.”

  “He probably saved your lives,” Florian suggested. “The militia is trained for handling civilians. The Legion is trained to kill armed men. Has Centurion Sisera joined them?”

  The Sergeant felt a trace of guilt. While his officer needed him at the Legion office, he was off hunting. Then, the Umbrian answered.

  “Centurion Sisera has been arrested,” the man announced. He wiped sweat from his forehead then added. “They escorted him to the village root cellar, locked him in, and placed a sentry to watch the doors.”

  “Did they arrest Corporal Humi?” Florian questioned.

  “No, Optio. After he had us lay down our arms, the Tesserarius said the militia was disbanded,” the runner replied. “Then he and another man, his name is Teucer, followed a Centurion to your office. After Centurion Sisera was taken away, I ran to find you.”

  “You did good,” Florian acknowledged while reaching out and taking the cap. “It sounds as if there’s a Century occupying Stifone. Go collect the militiamen and have them hide among the craftsmen.”

  “What will you do, Sergeant?” Tite Roscini inquired.

  “You and I, Tite, are going to take our kill to town,” Florian informed the Militia Lieutenant. He pulled the cap over his short hair. “Let’s go see if anyone wants to buy some meat from a couple of hunters.”

  ***

  The Legion contubernium on the lowest tier watched as two men struggled in midstream of the river. One slipped below the surface but came up with the pole still in his hand while spitting water. His heroically saving the deer tied to the pole brought cheering from the Legionaries.

  Finally, Adamo Florian and Tite Roscini sloshed their way out of the river. As if they were entertainers, Roscini bowed to the onlookers. Then he had to rush to catch up when the pole was almost jerked out of his hand. This elicited another round of cheering from the squad.

  “I’d like to speak to your Tesserarius,” Florian explained to a Lance Corporal. “We took the deer and thought we could sell it to the Century. It looks to be one, is it?”

  “Yes, we are First Century Subausterus,” the Decanus stated. “You’ll find Corporal Maurilius in his tent on the top tier.”

  “Thank you,” Florian said. “We’ll go speak with him.”

  The two hunters had trudged up a couple of levels when another squad leader stepped in front of Florian.

  “Where are you going?” Hallus Italus challenged.

  “We’re taking the deer to Tesserarius Maurilius,” Florian answered. “He might buy it for your men.”

  “I imagine he might,” Hallus commented. Then he looked down and asked. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find Optio Florian would you?”

  “No idea,” Florian assured the Decanus. He glanced back and indicated Tite. “We’ve been in the mountains hunting for the last week.”

  “I’m sure you were,” Lance Corporal Italus remarked. Lifting his face, he looked into the hunter’s eyes and suggested. “If you see the Sergeant, Centurion Sisera wants him to know my Centurion plans to burn the trireme and erase all signs of it.”

  The two Legion NCOs, one on duty and one supposedly disguised, stared at each other for a moment before Florian broke away.

  “If I see the Optio,” Florian assured him. “I’ll pass the word.”

  As Adamo Florian and Tite Roscini started up the next step, Hallus Italus added.

  “I served with Sisera in Sicilia. One thing the weapon’s instructor taught was to study a stranger’s equipment. You are to be congratulated, bowman. I don’t know anyone who goes hunting for a week but takes time each day to polish his hobnailed boots. Move along.”

  ***

  Tesserarius Maurilius was happy to buy the hunter’s excess meat.

  “It’s perfect for the celebration tonight,” the Corporal explained. “My Centurion wants to host a feast for a scribe from an important family and celebrate the Century’s first mission.”

  “Are they celebrating making it to Stifone?” Tite inquired. “It’s a mountain village. Amelia is a much more impressive town. And it’s only five miles west of here.”

  “It’s not the journey,” Maurilius assured him. “Master Humi has been waiting in Stifone for us. We were delayed, and due to the quick march and fast turnaround, we haven’t had an opportunity to hunt. Plus, we’ll be back on the trail after a sacrifice tomorrow.”

  “Enjoy the venison,” Florian said.

  He and Tite walked along the rear edge of Stifone. When they passed the guard at the entrance to the root cellar, neither man looked at the double oak doors embedded in the hillside. At the last building of the village, Tite selected a path and guided them into the hills.

  “We are perfututum,” the Sergeant swore when they stopped at the top of a ridge.

  He sat down heavily and buried his face in the palms of his hands.

  “They have eighty heavy infantrymen, but only one guarding the root cellar,” Tite offered. “How bad is that?”

  “Worse than you think, Lieutenant Roscini. They’re going to burn the trireme in the morning and kill me, Master Pous, and Master Monilis,” Florian informed him. “Administrator Nardi Cocceia will be out the coins he invested, the Republic will blame Centurion Sisera, and your favorite Optio will be in hades.”

  “How do you know all that?” Tite questioned.

  “The message states they plan to burn the trireme,” Florian said. “that erases all signs of the warship. Meaning no witnesses can be left, when they take Sisera back for his trial.”

  “Did Centurion Sisera do something wrong?” Tite inquired.

  “He pushed the boundaries,” Florian offered. “When a Legionary pushes, he draws a crowd. One to watch him collect a medal for his armor or a group to watch him collect lashes on a punishment post.”

  “Is there nothing in between?” Tite asked.

  “Rarely, Lieutenant.”

  “You could take Masters Pous and Monilis to Fort Orte,” Tite suggested. “The Corporal said the Century was leaving in the morning. Stay there until they’re gone.”

  “That would be the smart thing to do,” the Sergeant agreed. “and maybe what Centurion Sisera wanted. But, is it what he needs?”

  “What does he need?” Tite questioned.

  “An action as bold as the one he took to start this process,” Optio Florian informed the Umbrian. “Only this time, no one will take my gladius.”

  They talked for a long while before Florian stood and stretched his back.

  “Have you got all that?” he asked Tite.

  “Don’t forget the food,” the militia Lieutenant reminded him.

  Adamo Florian smiled at the young Umbrian and started to walk away.

  “You are my favorite Optio,” Tite called after him. “Also, you are the only Optio I know.”

  ***

  Adamo Florian was a rare NCO. During his seven years in the Legion, the Sergeant had not been involved in any major campaigns. All of hi
s combat experience involved chasing bandits. He was good with a shield and gladius and a master at throwing and fighting with the javelin. While he practiced and taught young Legionaries how to fight, he hadn’t experienced anything larger than a squad level action. War experience aside, Optio Adamo Florian was a great organizer. He knew men and he knew how to get the most out of them.

  A quarter of a mile from where he left Tite, Florian dropped onto the main wagon trail heading out of Stifone. Three steps after his feet touched the relatively flat surface, the Sergeant fell into a Legion shuffle. Two miles later, he followed the road as it dipped into a shallow valley.

  Up to this point, the road had run south and away from Stifone and the Nera River. In the lowest part of the valley, the road began a gentle curve as it wrapped up and around a large foothill. When it straightened, the road ran west while the Nera, a mile and a half away, flowed southwest. They would converge six miles downstream from Stifone. There the hills that dipped steeply down to the river would flatten to form a proper embankment along the Nera.

  Optio Florian did not stay on the road. After locating a game trail, he left the cleared surface. Trekking around the backside of the large foothill, he descended towards the river. Before the trees closed in overhead, he noted the sun has passed midday. He still had to hike about two miles of steep twisting game trail to reach the river and sandbar. Then, he would pass through the thin forest before the hard part of the mission began.

  To accomplish the task, he set out for himself, Optio Adamo Florian had a lot of begging and pleading ahead of him. But the Legion NCO, while not an experienced warrior, was a great organizer.

  Chapter 20 - Work Your Plan

  The absence of Legionaries in the shipyard should have surprised Florian. But he realized Subausterus’ Century already planned to burn the trireme in the morning. Guarding an eventual bonfire was a waste of manpower. Even without sentries, the Sergeant walked in a controlled fashion to prevent alerting any spies. He hadn’t realized Tesserarius Humi’s situation and wouldn’t put it past the scribe to have paid off Umbrian craftsmen to keep an eye on things.

  He walked a ramp’s incline to the edge of the hull. After a quick scan, the Optio located the engineer.

  “Master Monilis, I’d like a word with you,” Florian called to the engineer. “It is rather important, sir.”

  With aggravation on his face, Pejus peered up from a groma. Three of the five plum bobs rested evenly over the keel beam. The final two strings swung as the engineer attempted to level the center stick holding up the cross pieces. At the sound of his name, the survey device that resembled sticks used to control a marionette tilted until only one of the plum bobs hung straight down from the simple frame.

  “Optio Florian. It is difficult enough using a tool designed for road work, inside the hull of a warship,” Pejus complained. “But having my attention stolen in the middle of leveling the groma, is beyond my tolerance.”

  “Master engineer, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” Florian assured him.

  Pejus collapsed the tool and rested it on a rib. He walked the center keep stepping over the joints of the support beams to reach a ladder. There, the engineer climbed to a platform. After walking the boards to a spot just below the Sergeant, he put his fists on his hips and glared up at the NCO.

  “I am here,” the engineer announced as if the NCO hadn’t watched him the entire way.

  Florian dropped to a knee and leaned forward.

  “Centurion Sisera has been arrested,” Florian informed the engineer. “And a Century from Tribune Subausterus has moved into Stifone.”

  “That’s excellent. Subausterus should be pleased with our progress,” Pejus declared. “Perhaps we should arrange a sacrifice and prepare a feast to honor the Tribune.”

  “Master Monilis, Centurion Sisera has been taken into custody,” the Sergeant said again, this time slowly. “And the Century is going to burn the trireme.”

  Pejus’ mouth fell open and gurgling sounds came from his throat. Finally, he closed his eyes and mouth, breathed in through his nose before opening his eyes.

  “They are going to burn this magnificent ship-of-war?” he commented. “What madness it this?”

  “The kind played by rich and powerful men,” Florian replied. “The kind who would crush a junior infantry officer and eliminate witnesses, because his plans were upset.”

  “What are we going to do?” Pejus inquired. “Flee?”

  “No, master engineer,” Florian informed him. “You are going to warn Master Pous not to go to Stifone. And I am going to speak with the laborers. Then, we’re accelerating the schedule.”

  “If we leave now, we can be at Fort Orte before moon rise,” Pejus suggested.

  “Then run again when Nardi Cocceia comes after us demanding revenge,” the Legion NCO described. “No. We have a plan and we will work the plan.”

  “We have a plan?” Pejus questioned.

  “We do,” the Sergeant assured him.

  ***

  As soon as Optio Florian reached the top of the stairs, seven men separated from the laborers’ camps and clustered around him.

  “Sergeant. What’s the plan?” one inquired.

  “Who has hunted boar?” Florian queried the militiamen.

  Five of the Umbrians raised their hands.

  “Who liked it?”

  Only four hands remained in the air.

  “You four will go and meet with Lieutenant Roscini,” Florian informed the ones who enjoyed hunting animals with man-killing tusks. “He’s on the ridge above Stifone. Use the animal trail and avoid Stifone. And take rations and wine for Tite as well as an animal skin blanket. Make that two blankets.”

  “What do we do?” one of the three remaining militiamen questioned.

  “Two of you need to go around and quietly identify twenty-five Umbrians who are loyal to Administrator Nardi Cocceia,” Florian instructed. “Have them meet me here before dusk.”

  “And me?” the last unassigned militiaman asked.

  “You are going to scour the shipyard for poles,” the Optio directed. “We need twenty-five of the longest poles you can find. Fifteen feet or longer is best.”

  “I’m sensing a correlation between the number of supporters for Administrator Cocceia and the number of poles,” the Umbrian suggested.

  “Here’s another connection for you,” Florian remarked. “You’ll dump the poles inside the trireme’s hull.”

  ***

  By the lunar zenith, the craftsmen and apprentices had settled down from the evening’s hobbies. In Stifone, the villagers and most of the infantrymen slept. There were exceptions. Sentries walking posts yawned while waiting to be relieved. They wouldn’t have to wait long as the high in the sky moon triggered a rustling of activities among the squads. The men assigned to third watch washed sleep from their eyes and prepared to come on duty. In the boatyard area, three militiamen and twenty-five chosen laborers tramped through the worker’s camps to the edge of the shelf and made their way down the stairs.

  A few craftsmen raised their heads, noted the night passage of men, and lay back. Each planned to send Humi a message in the morning about the nocturnal movement.

  Fifteen of the loyal Umbrians reached the trireme, walked up the ramps, stepped over the hull, and onto the inner ring of the platform. The other ten, and the militiamen, slipped into the thin woods to wait.

  In Stifone, the guards changed at the Centurion’s quarters, the Century supply tent, the pack animal pen, the ten contubernium areas, and at one additional post.

  The single Legionary at the fourteenth guard position squatted beside a campfire next to a pair of doors set in a hillside. It was the most isolated post of all. Unlike the others, with interlocking views, the Private at the root cellar could only see an outline of a supply tent in the light of the full moon, the flames of the campfire, and the other sentry by silhouette.

  Beneath the doors and underground, Alerio Sisera took anoth
er squirt from the wineskin and tightened the blanket around his shoulders. The drink, one of many, was to ward off the chill he told himself and not so much to dull his senses against the situation. He hoped Optio Florian received his message and had spirited Cata Pous and Pejus Monilis away from the Stifone area. He drank again and saluted Lieutenant Tite Roscini. The young farmer had done a good job of running security during the building process. He wasn’t worried about the militiamen. They could go home and while they might have to answer questions from their tribal leaders, they couldn’t be blamed for the loss of the trireme.

  Alerio took a bite of bread and cheese which called for another drink to wash down the food. It was as good an excuse to drink as he could think of with his senses dulled. He was grateful for the altered state because for the first time in a long while, Centurion Alerio Sisera did not have a plan. But he did have a wineskin, so he squirted another stream of vino into his mouth.

  After the guards settled into their posts and the off-duty Legionaries were wrapped in the arms of Hypnos, four blankets in first squad’s area got tossed back. Rising from their bedding, four thugs, playing at being Legionaries, headed down the terraces to the sand bar. Their orders directed them to cut the throats of the Greek boat builder, the Latian engineer, and the Legion Optio.

  Their mission was an additional reason Sergeant Florian hadn’t seen Legionaries guarding the boatyard. None of the command staff from First Century Subausterus wanted their Legionaries to witness, let alone be aware of, the bloody work of the assassins.

  Chapter 21 - Overconfidence for the Loss

  The four killers walked in single file and rolled their booted feet to keep the noise down as they snuck along the sand and gravel. Just before the sandbar ended, the lead man mounted the earthen dike. One by one, the others climbed and dropped down the far side. With soft leaves and pine needles under foot, they increased their pace.

  Master Humi had instructed them if Cata Pous and Pejus Monilis weren’t at the rented house in Stifone, they would be sleeping near the ship. Although Florian was missing from the village, Humi assured them the Legion NCO would be found with the engineer and boat builder.