Neptune's Fury

by J. Clifton Slater

  Then bugles sounded and soldiers in the camps began pulling out armor, helmets, and weapons. It might have been in response to an attack. However, the NCOs and officers strolled around checking on the men and gear with no sign of alarm. Alerio decided it was a major call up and not a defensive response. He smiled and circled around behind the animal pens.

  There were always places in disarray when an army mobilized. One in particular was ripe with abandoned clothing, wineskins, food stuffs, even swords and pieces of armor. Cavalrymen collected items while walking around only to realize they didn’t want to encumber their mounts with the weight. The items, along with instructions to care for them, were given to the stablemen and grooms. Being rushed and in a slightly manic state, the animal handlers agreed. Then they tossed the excess gear into a pile, off to the side, and out of the way.

  Alerio only cared about the food, a wineskin, and a robe. Coming in from the backside of the pile, he snatched what he needed, and faded back among the tents and campsites. The stablemen, busy rubbing down horses or checking hooves, missed the robbery. Unfortunately, the thief couldn’t loiter to search for a pair of boots or sandals.

  When a Company sized unit marched by, Alerio tossed the faded green cloak over his shoulders and pulled the hood over his head. With his non-descript appearance, he fell in behind the rear squad and he followed them into the hills.

  The Company turned off the trail and moved into position while Alerio continued to the crest of a hill. From the heights, he finally had a view of the shoreline and the four Syracuse transports. Grain sacks were being carried off the ships and placed in wagons. Legionaries stood guard around the coastal village of Maddalusa protecting the valuable cargo.

  As alert as the Centuries guarding the grain seemed, there was no other response to the activity in the Qart Hadasht encampment. Shifting his eyes to the palisades constructed in spots along the siege trench surrounding Agrigento, he marveled at the lack of movement there as well.

  “Latian. Get your war gear,” an officer in a tall conical helmet ordered. “Where is your Company?”

  “I have camp guard duty,” Alerio lied to the mercenary officer. He was tall, dark skinned, and not a native Latin speaker. Pointing to the Valley of the Temples, Alerio added. “I just wanted to see them from up here.”

  “After the breakout and rout, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to visit the temples,” the officer assured him.

  “My Captain wanted to know if he could sacrifice before marching out,” Alerio questioned. “Or do you need us right away?”

  “The General wants everyone in position by dark. But really, we don’t step off until dawn,” the Empire officer replied. “My people don’t relate to the Hellenistic gods as yours do. Nevertheless, tell your Captain to make his offering.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Alerio said. He turned and backtracked to the camps.

  As he hiked down the trail, Alerio ate, letting the cheese, bread and, a not too weak vino, fill his belly. With his appetite sated, Alerio dropped down to the beach. He needed a way out and didn’t care for crossing a battle line and a no-man’s-land to reach the Legion lines. Maybe an unguarded fishing boat would present itself or, a family of traders with a cart heading south.

  ***

  There were no free boats or passing carts. Not that the beach was deserted. On the contrary, hundreds of campfires dotted the sand and rocky shoreline. In hindsight it made sense. Where else would the crews from the warships camp, except near their vessels.

  Peering southward, Alerio noted the last group of campfires. With no other idea of how to reach the Legion, be began walking. Until he reached the final few fires and camps, no one had called out or challenged him.

  “There’s nothing down there except trouble,” a man shouted from a camp.

  Alerio turned to see an oarsman reclining by a fire. He was propped up on an elbow and had two companions. It would not go well for the rowers if they tried to stop the Legion officer.

  “Don’t bother with that one,” the Egyptian from the warship cautioned. The oarsmen sat at an adjacent camp with a frown on his face. “He is decidedly anti-social.”

  The reclining oarsman waved a dismissive hand at Alerio.

  “It’s your funeral,” he said with a yawn. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

  A half mile from the last camp, Alerio broke into a Legion shuffle. Three miles later, a squad of Legionaries rushed onto the beach, linked their shields, and formed a defensive line. They thought it odd when the limping stranger coming from the north beamed a broad smile in their direction before saluting.

  ***

  Colonel Gaius Claudius and Legion Senior Centurion Lembus sat in an office staring at Centurion Alerio Sisera. When he finished explaining about the dawn attack, they glanced at each other.

  “I swear Sisera,” battle commander Claudius offered while eyeing Alerio from head to his bare, bleeding feet. “You spend more time behind the enemy’s line than you do here.”

  “It’s not intentional, Colonel,” Alerio assured the battle commander of Megellus Legion East. “that’s where my ride ended up. What are you going to do about the attack, sir?”

  “They caught us by surprise the first time,” Senior Centurion Lembus stated. “We lost our storage depot and our grain. If they try that, we’ll be waiting.”

  “Intelligence says General Hannibal Gisco has been sending smoke signals from Agrigento,” Colonel Claudius remarked. “This could be a quick strike to free the Qart Hadasht General from the city.”

  “I don’t believe so, sir,” Alerio submitted. “They were bragging about taking and holding the Valley of the Temples.”

  “Grain storage, the city’s gates, and the temple. That’s three objectives to guard,” Claudius commented. “How do we narrow them down? I don’t have the Centuries to cover three specific areas and, keep the palisades along the siege trench crewed.”

  “I don’t mean to come across as a staff officer, Colonel,” Alerio said defensively.

  “Spit it out, Sisera. It appears, you’re proclaiming your association with planning and strategies,” Lembus suggested. “Talk to us.”

  “Pull Centuries from all but a few of the palisades, sir,” Alerio recommended. “You don’t need to defend a long trench in the daylight. Use some to defend the Valley of the Temples.”

  “You’re suggesting we weaken our defense at the trench and protect the temples,” Colonel Claudius summed up. “That’s not much of a plan, Centurion Sisera. What about the city gates and the supply depot?”

  “We have four empty transports beached at Maddalusa, Colonel,” Alerio proposed. “A force hidden in the cargo spaces can come out to defend the depot. Or…”

  “Or attack the rear of the Qart Hadasht mercenaries if they go for the gates of Agrigento or the temples,” Senior Centurion Lembus broke in to finish the plan. “If we squeeze three Centuries into each transport, we can unchain a maniple of veterans.”

  “Sir, I’d be proud to fight in that maniple,” Alerio offered.

  “Never volunteer, Centurion Sisera,” Colonel Claudius instructed. “And while I’d like to grant your wish, I need you on a horse and not on a battle line.”

  “I can ride, sir,” Alerio informed the commander. “But I’m no cavalryman.”

  “I realize that. You aren’t loud or rich enough,” Claudius said. Alerio couldn’t tell if the Colonel was teasing or not. “General Megellus wants King Hiero to have a first hand account of the sacrifice the Republic made to protect his transports.”

  “Five hundred and seventy men died, sir,” Alerio reported. “to deliver the grain.”

  “No, Centurion Sisera. Five hundred and seventy Legionaries sacrificed themselves protecting the four Syracuse transports,” Colonel Claudius informed him. “For this mission, I need you to set aside your infantry officer’s attitude and access your diplomatic side. The King will be amazed by your recital. After your description of the ferocity of the Legion forces,
he will go to bed each evening for the rest of his life fearing that if he hesitates in helping or, crosses the Republic in the future, the Legion will eat his heart. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Alerio confirmed. “When do I leave.”

  “As soon as the Senior Centurion runs you through the armory,” Claudius responded. “and finds you a pair of boots. But I don’t want you in parade ground armor. Make sure he looks the part of a warrior, Senior Centurion.”

  “My quartermaster has a scroll dedicated to Centurion Sisera’s bills,” Lembus remarked. “He’ll be pleased to note the war gear this time can be used and scarred. Come along Sisera, let’s get you dressed and on the road.”

  Chapter 36 - A Promise Made

  In the Capital, there were many roads. Most paved with large stones and engineered to run straight between roundabouts. If attacked, Legions could cross the city quickly. Hard, true roads, connecting one side of Rome to the other, gave defenders access to besieged sectors. Even with the civil engineering guidelines, there were a few streets covered in gravel and following the original contour of the land. One of them tracked up and down hills and wobbled from side to side along with an estates’ defensive wall. Blocks of tradesmen compounds and shops occupied one side of the street. On the opposite side and over the defensive wall was an enormous estate. A property better suited to the country than an urban environment.

  Close to a commercial district, the grand villa, offices, and stables on the private acreage seemed out of place. Most of the large villas clustered around the government building. But the value of the land, inflated by location and the limited availability, would have reduced the length of the riding trails. And if there was one thing the Subausterus family valued, it was room to ride their horses and race their chariots. Thus, they bought less desirable land and built a defensive wall around the entire estate.

  Shortly after sundown, Scribe Ludovicus Humi left work through the side door of the office complex. It had been a long day and his shoulders slumped from exhaustion. Former Tesserarius Humi was looking forward to a meal and a mug of vino or several mugs. He crossed the porch, stepped between the marble columns, and strolled over the manicured lawn.

  As he approached an exit, a bodyguard holding a lantern greeted him while a house guard opened the gate in the defensive wall. Humi’s sandals and the guard’s boots crunched on the gravel street as they headed for the scribe’s favorite pub. Behind them, the crossbeam fell, locking the gate in the estate’s defensive wall.

  Twenty steps from the gate and in the direction of Humi’s favorite pub, the bodyguard, partially blinded by the lantern, failed to see the shadowy figures rise up from behind a roadside bush. The man-at-arms was unprepared for the strike from a club. Then, it didn’t matter. Another club swung and the scribe dropped unconscious to the gravel surface.

  Humi lay oblivious to the horse and cart when they turned the corner from the commercial district. And remained unaware when the rig paused for a moment. Four hands lifted him from the street and tossed his body and two herding clubs into the bed of the cart.

  The bodyguard was comatose, the lantern hissed, and the light flickered. Gravel crunched under the cart’s wheels and the horse’s hoofs while the cart rolled away from the street boarding the Subausterus estate.

  ***

  Sputtering and coughing, Humi felt his hair yanked. In response, his head snapped up and out of the bucket of water.

  “Good evening, Corporal,” a voice greeted him.

  At the sound of the voice, the scribe’s stomach rebelled and he puked watery bile down his chest. After the initial blast, he coughed up mucus and attempted to spit it out.

  “You had better watch yourself, Sisera,” Humi warned.

  The threat lost a lot of weight. Not only was spit hanging from the corner of his mouth but gobs of snot dangled from his nostrils.

  “I apologize for the knot on your head,” Alerio offered. “I was torn when I hit you.”

  While still gripping Humi’s hair, Alerio dug the fingers of his other hand into the scribe’s shoulder. Lifting, he pulled the man off his knees, swung him around, and shoved the scribe into a chair.

  “You should have followed your conscience,” Humi said when he realized he wasn’t being flung to the stone floor. “and stayed far away from me and Master Subausterus.”

  “It wasn’t that, Corporal,” Alerio replied. “My impulse was to hit you harder, then beat you to death for treason. But that wasn’t the promise.”

  “What promise?” Humi questioned.

  “The one I made when you were sabotaging our work,” Alerio reminded the scribe.

  “The mad oath you made about taking my fingers,” Humi said. Then slowly, he realized the significance of the statement. “But that was uttered in a moment of passion. Nobody takes that sort of promise seriously.”

  “True, but I do need something else,” Alerio remarked. “Who was the mercenary in Senator Maximus’ villa? And where do I find him and his friends?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Humi vowed. “I know nothing about the Senator’s house guard being arrested.”

  Alerio almost burst out laughing. To cover the expression of amusement, he walked to a corner, picked up a pitcher, and poured a mug of water. Humi wasn’t as smart or sophisticated as Alerio thought. In one answer, Humi confirmed that he knew Civi Affatus had been arrested so the villa was unguarded. By extension, he must know who would be going there to wait.

  “Tesserarius Humi. I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” Alerio said softy.

  “What way…?” but the scribe didn’t finish.

  Alerio kicked him off the chair with enough force, Humi sailed for several feet before impacting then bouncing off the stone floor. When he settled, Centurion Sisera squatted on the scribe’s chest and slammed a foot down on his hand.

  “You transcribe with this hand, correct?” Alerio inquired.

  “Yes. You wouldn’t…?“

  The dagger flashed. Its blade reflecting lantern light as it arced from shoulder height, down to where the steel scraped along the stone floor, then back up to shoulder level.

  Humi shivered but remained still. His only reaction was a whimper and tears leaking from clenched eyes.

  “Medic,” Alerio said almost as an afterthought. “Fix this.”

  Footsteps came from a side room and walked to the scribe. He didn’t want to look but when the footfalls stopped, Humi open his eyes. A pair of hobnailed boots rested several hands lengths away. Then the man reached down and Humi saw the red-hot poker.

  He screamed and bucked as the stubs of two fingers were cauterized.

  “I’ll let you know when I need you again,” Alerio manage to say while holding Humi down. “Best go and heat the iron. Now Corporal, I asked you a question.”

  “Abdicatus, he goes by Abdicatus,” Humi cried. “Please. No more.”

  “That depends on you, Corporal,” Alerio stated. “Where can I find this Abdicatus?”

  “A tavern in the Firebreak District named the Unholy Fig,” Humi explained. “I wish you had gone there first.”

  “And why should I have gone there first?” Alerio asked.

  “Abdicatus has an enforcer. He is so fast with a blade, you’ll be holding your guts in your hands and seeing your own merda, before you die,” Humi described. “I’d pay to see Hircus kill you.”

  “I hate to break my promises but I only took your little finger and the tip of another,” Alerio explained. “But that shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “It isn’t. I can still write without the small finger,” Humi responded. “Now that you’ve had your fun. And gotten your answers. Let me up.”

  Alerio stood and walked away from the scribe before calling out, “Lieutenant Roscini. The prisoner is all yours.”

  Tite Roscini marched in followed by four of his militiamen.

  “Ludovicus Humi. You are under arrest for the murder of an Umbri craftsman and his apprentice,�
� Tite charged. “You are to be taken to Amelia where you will stand before Administrator Nardi Cocceia and be judged.”

  “You can’t do this. I am a citizen of the Republic,” Humi pleaded. “Tell them Centurion Sisera. Tell them they can’t do this.”

  “Praetor Seubus is worried about the offenses visited on the Umbria. Now that we need Stifone and Administrator Cocceia to build our ships,” Alerio replied. “the Praetor needed someone to offer up for all of the mistakes.”

  “I know things about Tribune Subausterus,” Humi bragged. “He should be on trial.”

  “He is a nobleman and a staff officer. It will never happen without the backing of the senate,” Alerio informed the former Corporal. “Lieutenant Roscini treat the prisoner well. But if it seems the judgement is anything except execution, please send me a message.”

  Tite understood as did Humi. The scribe walked out flanked by the Umbria militiamen. His shoulders stooped much lower than when he left his office.

  Chapter 37 - A Man’s Sanctuary

  Early evening the next day found Alerio in the company of Civi Affatus and six armed men. They marched from the ordered roads of the Capital onto the dirt streets of Firebreak District. Two blocks in, the group walked an alleyway until it spilled out onto another street.

  “We can take it from here,” Civi Affatus said for the fifth time. “This isn’t your fight, sir.”

  “As a musician,” Alerio replied to the retired Optio. “you are merda.”

  Puzzled expressions appeared on the faces of Civi and the other six house guards.

  “I don’t understand, Centurion,” Civi remarked. “I can’t sing or play an instrument.”

  “And you shouldn’t because you play the same tune over and over,” Alerio teased. He draped the old green cloak across his shoulders and tugged the hood down over his face. “I, on the other hand, have a manly singing voice. Perhaps, I’ll entertain you gentlemen someday. Right now, we have to pay homage to Nemesis.”