Neptune's Fury

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Are you telling me that you’re afraid to engage with a larger ship?” Invitus demanded. “Maybe you should be less cautious, Centurion Sisera. As I often instructed my cavalry Century, go right at the enemy. No matter how big or numerous, go straight at them and the enemy will break.”

  Before Alerio had a chance to offer a comeback, a Legion patrol boat entered Massina harbor. The Legionaries at the oars were stripped to their waist, sweating, and digging their oars deep while staying in perfect timing.

  “Impressive,” Dilato Invitus noted.

  ***

  All thirty oarsmen set their oars in the water before back stroking. The coastal patrol boat went from a high rate as it approached the beach to the keel gently touching the rocky soil of Messina harbor. It came to a halt with the aft of the boat resting on land next to the Furor’s Face.

  “How did they do that?” Invitus questioned. “We can barely get our oarsmen to stroke together in a straight line.”

  “Optio Martius, Southern Legion’s rowing instructor,” Alerio reported. “This boat crew is either showing off or on an urgent mission.”

  A Tesserarius hopped from the patrol boat and crunched gravel as he marched to them. He held a scroll in his hand.

  “I’m looking for the commander of the trireme, sirs,” he explained.

  “That would be me,” Invitus informed the NCO.

  “Sir, you are invited to dine with Senior Centurion Patroclus of the Southern Legion,” the Corporal announced. “This boat will take you to Fort Rhegium. And will await your pleasure as transportation back tomorrow.”

  “Who is the scroll for?” Alerio questioned.

  “The scroll is for my notes of what you require to complete your mission,” the Tesserarius stated. “I’m to meet with the First Principale and take notes before the patrol boat launches.”

  “I’m going to unpack an appropriate tunic,” Dilato Invitus said excusing himself. Before leaving, he instructed. “Centurion Sisera. I can’t think of anything except some salted pork and grain. If there’s anything else, tell the Corporal.”

  Alerio scanned the coastal patrol boat and shifted his eyes to the midship of the trireme.

  “Corporal. We need salted pork or fish. Plus, two officers who know sailing to serve as Principales for the escort mission,” Alerio listed. Then he smiled before adding. “And some of Optio Martius’ gentle training.”

  “Gentle, sir?” the NCO questioned. “I’m not sure anyone would call the rowing master’s teaching techniques gentle.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Alerio remarked. “Just see what you can do. Be sure to tell him Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera made the request.”

  The NCO finished making notes and rolled the scroll just as the ship’s Centurion climbed over the side. He had a bundle of clothes under his arm.

  “I assume Rhegium has a bath?” Invitus commented.

  “Yes, sir,” the Corporal said as he indicated the patrol boat.

  Alerio stood watching until the boat rowed around the hook of land that created the strait side of the harbor. After it vanished around the tip, he went to find the ship’s sailors campsite. They had promised him a meal.

  Later, when the sun was low and Alerio’s belly full, two patrol boats appeared at the entrance to the harbor. Unlike the one earlier with the solid crew of oarsmen, these two were under powered. The ten rowers in each, while trained, were obviously infantrymen drafted into being oarsmen.

  To confirm Alerio’s observation, the patrol boats touched the beach and men vaulted to the land. Then armors, helmets, gladii, shields, javelins, and rations were tossed ashore. Shortly after landing, the twenty Legionaries marched towards Messina. Only two men remained with the boats.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera?” one called to the campsites. “Alerio Sisera?”

  Alerio and Optio Florian strolled to the water’s edge and nodded to the boat handlers.

  “Sir, we were told to speak with Lance Corporal Sisera,” the other boat handler advised.

  “Do you know him, Centurion?” Optio Florian questioned.

  “No sir. Our rowing instructor told us to ask for him.”

  “What do you need?” Alerio questioned.

  “Optio Martius said if you want your engine room tuned up,” one replied. “Then they had best be on Rhegium beach before dawn. We’re here to pick them up, sir.”

  “Stand by,” Alerio ordered. Then he and the Sergeant walked to the crew’s camp. “The forty middle oarsmen, get to the patrol boats.”

  “What’s up, sir?” his biggest rower inquired.

  “You and your beefy companions are going on a field trip,” Alerio replied. Then he lied. “You’ll have fun. And you’ll get out of caulking duty.”

  After loading, the boats launched. As the two coastal patrol boats rowed for the entrance to the harbor, Optio Florian turned to face his Centurion.

  “You have eighty jealous oarsmen,” he remarked to Alerio. “Those left out are not happy. What should I tell them about missing out on a field trip?”

  “Let them stew,” Alerio instructed. “The grousing will only last until the rowers get back.”

  “How can you be sure of that, sir?” the NCO questioned.

  “Bleeding blisters make people who missed the ordeal not so envious of the ones suffering,” Alerio offered. “Keep on the crew. I want this vessel as water tight as we can make it in two days.”

  ***

  Later the next morning, a patrol boat appeared at the inlet’s tip and rowed for Messina beach. As the crew did the day before, they cut a half circle and eased the boat back to shoreline.

  Centurion Invitus jumped from the patrol boat, landed in ankle deep water and, rather than being upset, kicked the water in a playful manner. Behind him, two young officers stepped from the boat hauling personal gear.

  “Sisera. Centurions Eosi Stratus and Bancus Nunzio. They have been forced upon me by Centurion Patroclus,” Invitus announced with a chuckle. Then he went on to describe his meal. “Patroclus is the Senior Centurion for the entire Southern Legion. He’s an infantry officer and a fighter. We had a glorious discussion about tactics. Stratus and Nunzio joined us along with an interesting staff officer, Tribune Velius.”

  Something was off. The officer for Furor’s Face was usually quiet. Although given to out bursts, between his bouts of enthusiasm, the Centurion was stoic. Now here he was prattling on like a school boy.

  Invitus never asked how Alerio knew Optio Martius, the Southern Legion’s rowing instructor. Thus, he had no idea that Alerio had been stationed with the Southern Legion. Not only did Alerio know the senior leadership of the Legion, he was an agent for the old spy master, Tribune Velius. That’s why Invitus’ next words hurt Alerio’s pride.

  “During dinner, I expressed my reservations about you and your timid approach to combat,” Dilato Invitus confessed. “I had a lot of vino but you know what they say, in vino veritas.”

  “Yes, in wine lies the truth,” Alerio said.

  “I’m glad you realize that because the next thing I knew, both Patroclus and Velius insisted I take Stratus and Nunzio on as Principales,” Invitus explained. “After talking with them, I realized they would make excellent deck officers.”

  “We had asked the supply Corporal for two more officers,” Alerio reminded the ship’s senior Centurion. “How did Senior Centurion Patroclus feel about letting two of his officers go.”

  “He seemed very keen about them going on the grain ship escort mission,” Invitus replied. Then he got serious and added. “I hate to tell you but, bad news is best delivered quickly. Eosi Stratus is taking the position of First Principale. After spending time with him, I believe he and I see eye-to-eye on combat tactics.”

  “And Bancus Nunzio?” Alerio inquired.

  “Centurion Nunzio will assume the role of Second Principale and rowing officer,” Invitus stated. “You’ve done a good job on the trip down the coast. But we are in enemy waters and I need a warrior as my
second in command. And a rowing officer who will follow orders and not challenge them.”

  “Do Patroclus and Velius know about the assignments?” Alerio questioned.

  He was watching the two young Centurions. His first unvoiced question was why they hadn’t been assigned Centuries with the Southern Legion. And the second question, why did the Legion’s Senior Centurion want to get rid of these two officers?

  “Of course not,” Invitus replied. “I am the ship’s senior officer and I decide who serves where. Don’t you agree, Third Principale Sisera.”

  “Absolutely, senior Centurion,” Alerio replied. “With your permission, I’d like to go into Messina tonight.”

  “Yes, of course, you deserve a little recreation,” Dilato Invitus agreed. “We have a full staff of deck officers. I can’t imagine you’ll be missed.”

  ***

  Milon Frigian stretched his leg, hooked a chair from a neighboring table with the toe of his boot, and slid it to his table.

  “Sit, Captain Sisera,” the pirate Captain instructed. He held a pitcher of wine and used it to indicate the chair. Then he poured a mug full and placed it in front of the seat. “Now you can’t refuse to drink with me. That would cut me deeply.”

  It wasn’t that Alerio didn’t want to sit and drink. It was the two big Sons of Mars oarsmen who were hugging the former Captain of the Messina Militia.

  “And then he took our spears, swords and shields,” one boomed so the entire room of pirates could hear his story. “I asked Captain Sisera what we were supposed to fight the perfututum Greek formation of hoplites with?”

  “I said, with our mentulae?” the other giant Son added while he crushed Alerio in an embrace. “And do you know what this cold bastardis of a Captain replied?”

  “Use your mentulae, if that’s what it takes to keep their second line out of the fight.”

  They broke apart while laughing and Alerio managed to duck under their arms and reach the safety of Frigian’s table.

  “Do they still tell that tale?” Alerio asked while he dropped into the chair and snatched up the mug.

  “It has, my friend, become a three-mug-myth,” Frigian reported. “Every big man who fought off the Greek heavy infantry with just an oar stands and, after three drinks, tells the story. You showing up makes it that much better.”

  “They earned the bragging rights,” Alerio acknowledged.

  He raised his mug and saluted the big Sons. Cheering washed back over him, as the room of pirates hoisted mugs and returned the salute.

  “Are you ready to join us?” Milon Frigian questioned.

  “I really just came to drink with an old acquaintance,” Alerio professed. “What makes you think I’d leave the Legion?”

  “Come now, Sisera. We all saw the floating funeral pyre you rowed in on yesterday,” Frigian replied. “You could dip that pile of soggy wood in a tar pit and water would still find a way through that hull. Thus, I figured, you’ve had enough and would come to join the Sons of Mars.”

  “No, just taking a night off and drinking,” Alerio assured him.

  “That is too bad, my friend,” Frigian announced. He picked up the pitcher and refilled Alerio’s mug. “We are about to become rich. And we could use another Captain.”

  “And just how are you going to earn this vast wealth?” Alerio inquired.

  “It works this way,” Frigian explained. “The Empire is pulling together fleets of warships. And the Republic is forming squadrons. Alright, it’s lopsided but follow my logic. With Qart Hadasht and Rome massing their ships, there are none available to escort merchantmen. Except the Sons of Mars, we are available. And we won’t even take their ships. We’ll collect a fee then row to the next one and collect more gold.”

  “Gold?” Alerio asked.

  “Sure, I said we weren’t taking their transports,” Captain Frigian informed Alerio. “I didn’t say they would not pay me handsomely for the privilege of keeping their vessels.”

  Frigian had a point about shipping being endangered by a lack of warship protection. But the thing worrying Centurion Sisera was the lopsided conflict. The Empire had hundreds of warships, most of them quinqueremes. While the Republic had only twenty warships, all of them triremes.

  Chapter 32 - A Reminder of Violence

  Furor’s Face, Epiales’ Veil, and two other triremes rowed from Messina harbor. Once out of the calm waters, they traveled south on the strait. Voices rose from the rowers in the center of Furor’s Face and the forty oarsmen of the machine began to chant.

  Furor is a blinder

  Frenzy accepted

  The nobility of frenzy

  In the end is exposed as infamy

  Night and day are frenzy and restraint

  Too late to lodge a complaint after the taint

  Frenzy builds a funeral pyre

  not a fireplace

  Frenzy has stolen your grace

  Furor breaks a vase

  Ignoring the craftsmanship

  He urges not a snip

  Preferring to chip and whip

  Furor is a blinder

  Frenzy accepted

  From lackluster oarsmen accustomed to patrolling off the coast of the Republic, the newly sharpened oarsmen of the machine stroked in unison with enthusiasm. Almost as if each side of the warship was competing with the other.

  Furor is a brawler

  Mad rage justified

  The blade goes at cohorts

  In mad rage as hard as at foes

  Tactics are omitted in the fog of war’s rage

  But your sage guidance learned with age

  Mad rage starts conflicts

  Precision wins the battles

  Mad is play and children's rattles

  Furor is a weapon

  To cleave or shatter

  He silences chatter

  All that matters is to batter

  Furor is a brawler

  Mad rage justified

  Alerio recognized the sharp strokes and the aggressive nature. It was pure combat rowing as taught by Optio Martius, the rowing instructor. The challenge for the unified oarsmen, their commanders had no idea how to harness the new power.

  Insanity embraced

  Slurs slung before

  The mind can control incivility

  And swaps your tranquility for imbecility

  Wine and insanity rule with the cost

  of your sense of a mild mind

  turns your inner eye blind

  No calming breather

  Furor values neither

  Beauty nor mighty ugly

  Only rant and rile

  His blessing raises bile

  Takes your guile and style

  Furor is a trickster

  Insanity embraced

  If Alerio had another couple of days, he would have found a way to send Dilato Invitus and Eosi Stratus for lessons in combat leadership. But he didn’t and his new position doomed him to standing on the forward deck, one hundred and thirty feet away from the warship’s commanders.

  ***

  Three days later, four Republic triremes rowed into Syracuse harbor. To the merchant ships at the docks, the laborers toting goods, the soldiers standing guard, and the Syracuse sailors waiting to launch or to sign onto a transport, the display of Republic naval power was impressive. The loading and unloading of ships bound for Egypt, the Greek city states, various islands, and the coast on either side of Qart Hadasht territory, stopped. The workers and Captains watched the ships-of-war cut sharply through the waters of the harbor.

  Three of the warships cut neat half circles, reversed oar strokes, and powered backwards. With their sterns on the beach, one hundred rowers from those vessels left their posts, jumped over the sides, and manhandled the warships higher up onto the beach. The other warship over rotated and had to row farther out into the harbor. There, it adjusted the heading and came around for another approach.

  Alerio, braced on the foredeck, called down to the rowing off
icer, “No obstacles.”

  Dutifully the Second Principale passed the word down the rower’s deck to the ship’s Optio who shouted, the obvious description, up to the stern steering deck. Frustratingly so, First Principale Stratus and the ship’s Centurion Invitus could clearly see there were no obstacles in the section of the harbor.

  “Confirmed, no obstacles,” Stratus called back.

  The short message flew downward, was passed along the rower’s walk, and up to Alerio on the bow. Ever since Invitus discovered the new strength of his center oarsmen from the Legion training, he had been calling for power strikes. And just as you’d expect from a charioteer with a spirited but unfamiliar team, the vessel swerved off course.

  Alerio had quickly learned why Senior Centurion Patroclus handed the two Centurions over for shipboard duty. Neither one would make a decision. Therefore, everything Invitus said, did, or suggested went unchallenged and was executed immediately by the First and Second Principales. Including power strokes on the starboard side when a little feathering of the oars would have done the job.

  The Furor’s Face backed down and the rear keel rode up on the beach.

  “One hundred men,” Alerio shouted. “Over the side.”

  He stood and did a quick count until he was sure enough oarsmen had gone. Then he climbed down to the beach to supervise the moving of the warship.

  ***

  There were four transports loaded with grain, vegetables, and meat. Four treasures King Hiero II was wary of sending into Empire controlled waters just to reach Agrigento. Even if it saved Republic troops and their allies from starving. Not only were the ships valuable, the food stuff in the transports were as well.

  “If you want our help, the King needs guarantees,” the Syracuse Admiral informed the Legion officers. “A small deposit would go far in alleviating his concerns.”

  “We are ships’ Centurions, not ambassadors,” one officer stated. “We don’t have funds to use as ransom.”

  “Such harsh words,” the Admiral offered. “but alas, no coins, no food.”