Fortune Reigns

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Corporal Alerio Sisera of Caudex Legion,” Alerio responded figuring that if one of them was killed, his name and affiliation wouldn’t matter. “And your name Master Stonemason. Or should I call you Lochagos based on your expertise with the spear?”

  “I was never a Captain,” he replied. “Lochias Xander, a descendant of The Sacred Band of Thebes.”

  “I thought Thebes was destroyed by Philip II of Macedonia, Sergeant Xander?” questioned Alerio. “About seventy-one years ago, if my history lessons and memory hold true. You have aged well.”

  “A few years after they defeated The Sacred Band, Philip II and his son Alexander destroyed my ancestral home,” Xander admitted. “I was a baby when my father and uncles spirited our families away. Growing up with shield and spear, I learned about my celebrated heritage. As a young man, I hired out to Syracuse as a mercenary dreaming of glory and riches. When a sword hacked my knee, I learned glory was a fevered dream and loyalty as fleeting as my usefulness. After limping around Sicilia, I arrived at Echetla and found work protecting several merchants from a gang of thugs. One of the merchants was a stone craftsman. By night, I speared two-legged rats and, by day, apprenticed with the stonemason. And here we are, a thief and a Master Stonemason.”

  “And masters at arms,” Alerio added. He slowly drew his sword and began twirling it. When it whirled fast enough to buzz, the Corporal released the hilt. Soaring up, the tumbling blade almost touched the roof before it arched over and, still revolving, fell to his other side. After catching it by the hilt, Alerio brought the blade to his forehead and bowed to the former Greek Sergeant.

  “One of us dies tonight leaving the other crippled or waiting for death,” Zander ventured.

  “Or, we can make a gentlemen’s agreement and, you rent me the ropes and hooks,” offered Alerio.

  “The sword thing? Can you catch it every time?” the stonemason inquired.

  “Since I was twelve years old,” Alerio assured him. “Before that, I dropped it a lot.”

  “As I dropped the spear when I was learning,” Zander admitted. He bounced the coin purse in the palm of his hand before saying. “You have the agreement. When will you return my property?”

  “I won’t be returning the gear, personally,” Alerio informed the stonemason. “However, I will tell you where you can recover the items.”

  Alerio only told him about being hunted by Syracuse forces, the messy death sentence, and where the stonemason could pick up his rope and hooks.

  “I should have gutted you at first sight,” Zander complained, then added. “But a deal has been struck. Go, before I have time to question our agreement.”

  ***

  Castor jumped and almost cried out when a voice from behind him spoke his name. Before he embarrassed himself, the young nobleman recognized Corporal Sisera’s shape coming from between the warehouses.

  “Tribune Ireneus. Have you located our escape route?” Alerio asked.

  The Corporal pushed by the Tribunes without waiting for an answer and peered up and down the street. Then he sniffed and announced, “Follow me.”

  Alerio guided the Tribunes onto the street and led them around the corner. Constantly pivoting their heads watching for patrols or night watchmen, the three angled across the road. Two blocks from the alleyway, when their noses twitched and stomachs revolted, they left the road.

  The major features of the isolated lot were the city’s defensive wall and mounds of black matter piled in front of it. Almost immediately after leaving the road, their boots began squishing in slush. Flies rose in sheets to clog their mouths, requiring them to breathe through their noses. And, the insects’ bit at their exposed skin, adding to the horror of the city’s merda dump.

  Castor and Alerio struggled as the sticky dung closed in around their ankles. The further off the road they got, the deeper they sank in the soft mush. Flies crawled in their ears, across their eyes and settled in mass on their necks biting into their flesh. Castor swiped at the insects trying to dislodge them. Alerio, holding the ropes and hooks, had to settle for swinging his head back and forth. The movement offered little relief from the biting flies.

  With knees dragging in the wet slush, Castor and Alerio high stepped to the top of the mound and arrived at the wall. Then, from behind them, they heard whispered curses of frustration. Glancing back, they saw Senior Tribune Claudius sprawled out with his legs vanishing into the soft merda and his chest resting in the manure. Both of his arms were in ruts from where he attempted to claw his way out of the slimy muck.

  “Leave him,” Castor demanded as he panned the street searching for patrols. “That’s an order, Corporal Sisera.”

  Alerio twisted his mouth into a sneer that the Junior Tribune couldn’t see.

  “Fine with me. Hold these,” Alerio urged while dumping one length of rope and a hook into Castor’s arms.

  After fixing one end of the rope to the hook, Alerio whirled it around four times and released the iron. It sailed up and caught on the stone wall.

  “Give me the other rope,” Alerio instructed.

  “I’m going first,” Castor announced.

  “I need to place the other rope,” Alerio informed him as he reached for the rope and hook. “Unless you want to jump off the other side.”

  “No. You’ll leave me,” Castor accused, holding the rope tightly as Alerio attempted to take it. “You said you would.”

  “The rope is there,” Alerio pointed out. “I’m going to hang the other one. You can come up right after me.”

  With a final jerk, Castor released the rope and hook. Alerio tied the rope to the hook and coiled the line around his body and hung the hook over his shoulder. Then he climbed to the top of the wall. Castor followed on his heels. Once the other rope hung down the far side, Alerio placed Caster’s hands on the rope.

  “Climb down and make for our camp,” he instructed. “Watch for patrols. Send back the cavalry with two spare horses.”

  “You need to guide and protect me,” insisted Castor. “I can’t make it alone.”

  “Of course, you can, Tribune Ireneus,” Alerio assured him while placing a hand on Castor’s hip. Then he shoved it and the young nobleman rolled off the wall. Hanging by the rope, Castor heard the Corporal. “When I get Tribune Claudius over this wall, if Legion cavalry isn’t waiting for us, I’ll hunt you down. Then, I’ll call the Goddess Nenia for you. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Death Caller,” answered Castor. He had no choice but to climb down as Alerio placed a hand on his head and forced the descent.

  With the Junior Tribune on his way, Alerio swung his legs over the wall and dropped back into the merda to retrieve the Senior Tribune.

  ***

  Gaius felt trapped and alone. After hearing Castor order him left behind, the fight went from his heart and his exhausted body refused to move. With the negotiations crashing before they started, his unsuspecting Legionaries soon to be attacked and, his mission a monumental failure, the once proud nobleman rested the side of his face on the night soil. He waited to be discovered even as he anticipated the shame when he faced the smirking Lieutenant Hicetus.

  “I’m going to raise you upright, sir,” Alerio told Claudius. “Once you’re up, step with one leg and I’ll support you. Ready?”

  “Sisera? I thought you left?” Gaius mumbled in surprise.

  “Sir, the detachment needs you. Plus, it’s my duty to guard you. Even if it includes pulling you out of merda,” Alerio responded as he grabbed the Tribune’s armor and lifted. Amazingly, the weight of the man and armor were far heavier than expected. At first, Alerio assumed the chest piece and the Tribune’s arms were caught in suction. But the weight remained steady as he pulled the Tribune up. “You may need to back off the bread, cheese and un-watered wine, sir.”

  “That’s not exactly the problem,” countered Gaius. He pulled and, one leg came free. Using Alerio for balance, he managed to pull the second leg from the sucking dung. Together they sank, s
tepped and sank again until they reached the rope. Gaius reached out and tugged, then he admitted. “I’m not sure I can climb it.”

  “Get your legs up, sir,” directed Alerio. He stepped under the Tribune and placed Gaius’ feet on his shoulders. With a firm grip on the rope, he hoisted the Tribune up and Gaius reached higher and lifted his overweight body.

  Each time they rose, the Tribune’s boots smeared Alerio’s cheeks with dung. On the third hand-over-hand ascent, the caked boots closed and pushed merda into Alerio’s ears. Deaf, struggling, and trying to ignore the filth, Corporal Sisera boosted Claudius to the top of the wall.

  “Hum, hum…”

  “I can’t hear you, sir,” admitted Alerio. “We’ll go down the same way.”

  There was one advantage to having your face and ears covered in poop, Alerio thought as he dropped over the wall. The flies can’t reach your skin. Once Gaius’ boots were firmly on Alerio’s shoulders, they climbed down.

  “Blessings from Sterculius,” Gaius announced as he used the stone wall for support. “We crossed the manure unobserved.”

  Alerio used his little fingers to dig the merda from his ears. Glancing around at the deep shadow of the wall, the bodyguard realized they weren’t safe.

  “The tree line, sir. Can you walk?” Alerio asked.

  “Flat ground is fine as long as I don’t have to run,” Gaius informed him while pushing off the stone wall.

  ***

  They were halfway to a crop of trees when the sounds of hooves reached them. At first, Alerio thought they were Legion cavalry. But the jingle of weapons as the riders drew closer, came from along the wall.

  “It’s an Echetla patrol,” warned Alerio.

  Taking the Tribune by the arm, he attempted to rush Gaius. Their slow progress and the approaching patrol put the Legionnaires on a converging path with the mounted soldiers. They stumbled into a depression and Alerio stopped the Tribune.

  “Get down, sir,” he instructed. After helping Gaius to the grass, Alerio drew his sword and stretched out on the ground beside him.

  Hooves beat the earth as the cavalry troop bore down on the Tribune and the Corporal. Alerio raised his head and saw the outline of the riders. He tightened his grip on the sword and braced himself, preparing to defend Claudius. Then two of the horses snorted as if attempting to clear a stench from their nostrils. When the animals danced sideways to avoid the odor, the riders, after catching the scent, allowed their mounts to dance away from the offensive smell.

  “Something died there,” a soldier stated as he guided the patrol around Alerio and Gaius.

  “Smells like one of yours, Urion,” another voice called out.

  “Mine smell like freshly baked bread,” a soldier responded.

  “Maybe to you,” replied another as the patrol moved beyond the Legionaries.

  Alerio tugged Gaius to his feet, again marveling at the weight of the Senior Tribune.

  “Blessings of Sterculius,” proclaimed Alerio as he guided Gaius towards the trees.

  The God of merda had been very kind to the escaping Legionary and the Tribune on both sides of the wall.

  ***

  They edged along the tree line putting distance between themselves and any patrols near the wall. Gaius, using tree trunks, moved quickly as if the ability to support his upper body negated the exhaustion. Occasionally, they caught a glimpse of the Legion camp but Alerio insisted they continue. His plan was to cross the open field and approach it from the side. Hopefully avoiding any Echetla forces stationed between the gates and their camp.

  “Senior Tribune Claudius?” a voice asked as shapes separated from the deep shadows.

  Alerio raised his sword and stepped in front of Gaius.

  “Stand down, Death Caller. We’re Second Squad, Velites Century,” the man informed him.

  “How did you find me in the dark?” inquired Gaius.

  The Legionary sniffed the air and started to say something. After a pause, he changed his mind and informed the Tribune. “Fieldcraft, sir. Just good scouting.”

  “The Tribune requires a horse,” Alerio explained.

  “We have two mounts hidden a short distance from here,” the skirmisher Lance Corporal assured him. “Squad. Fall into a protective formation but give the Senior Tribune room to move.”

  Considering the stench, Alerio knew the order to give the Tribune space was unnecessary. With Velites surrounding them, although at a distance, the tension in Alerio’s shoulders eased. If they were attacked, it wouldn’t be his single blade defending the Senior Tribune.

  At a clearing, he gave Gaius a hand up, then mounted the other horse. Leaning over, the Tribune whispered to Alerio.

  “Corporal Sisera. I’d appreciate if you never mentioned your Senior Tribune being face down in wet merda,” instructed Gaius.

  “Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about,” Alerio assured him.

  “Good. Let’s get to camp and find buckets of water,” suggested Gaius. “And soap, then more water.”

  “An excellent plan, sir,” Alerio replied.

  They nudged their horses out of the clearing and onto the open plain. Together, they raced towards the temporary safety of the reinforced camp.

  Act 7

  Chapter 25 – Retreat from Echetla

  “Centurion. Send men on water and firewood runs,” Gaius ordered as he slid off the horse.

  “Sir, we have plenty of water for you and Corporal Sisera to wash,” the line officer from the First Maniple, Eighth Century exclaimed.

  “I understand. But I want every water vessel, pouch and wineskin filled,” insisted Gaius as a bucket was dumped over his head. “And every fire stacked with extra wood. We are marching out and it’s going to be fast.”

  “I’ll order a breakdown of the tents,” the confused Centurion announced.

  Another bucket emptied. Gaius scrubbed his scalp, face, neck, and arms with soap and motioned for another bucket. “No. The camp stays. I want all officers and Tesserarii in my tent. I’ll explain then. Come with me, Corporal Sisera.”

  Alerio, unlike the Tribune who still wore his armor, was naked and thoroughly washing his body.

  “Sir, I’m not dressed,” he protested.

  “I’ve got a tunic you can use,” advised Gaius as he marched to his tent. The Corporal grabbed the Syracusan sword and raced to catch up. He entered the big command tent right behind the Tribune. “Help me get this armor off.”

  “Sir, you’ll soil your tent,” commented Alerio as his fingers reached under a shoulder piece and started to unstrap the armor.

  “Good. It’ll give Sub Commander Ezio a memento of my visit,” Gaius said as the shoulder sections came off. When the chest and back sections were removed, the Senior Tribune wasn’t naked or just wearing an under tunic. Wrapped around his chest, stomach and back was a leather garment with pouches. “You’ll find a tunic in my bags. I can’t have my bodyguard standing around naked. The line officers might start measuring mentula instead of listening to me. But first, help me get this off.”

  Standing behind the Tribune, Alerio ran his hands under the shoulder straps and lifted. The mystery of why the Tribune appeared so heavy was solved.

  “Put it on my campaign table and get dressed,” Gaius instructed as he ducked down and away from the garment.

  “Yes, sir,” Alerio said as placed the heavy vest on the table. Then he went to a satchel, pulled out a tunic and dropped it over his head. “What’s in those pouches and why have you been wearing that rig?”

  “It’s why Colonel Requiem assigned me a bodyguard,” Gaius explained. He took a dagger from another satchel and began slitting the pouches. Finally, he lifted out a palm size bar of gold. “Gold intended to bribe the Council of Echetla.”

  As he talked, Gaius placed the small bars of gold beside the table. When he had two tall stacks, he indicated a box on the table. “There are writing utensils in the box. You are my acting Tesserarius. Write down the distribution.”

>   “To whom, sir?” Alerio asked.

  Before Gaius could reply, three Centurions and their Corporals came through the tent flap. They looked confused seeing Corporal Sisera sitting at the Tribune’s desk dressed in a gold-trimmed tunic. His hand held a quill positioned over a blank piece of parchment. Or, the reactions might be from seeing stacks of mini gold bars beside the desk.

  “Sir, you passed the word to get the Centuries on the road for a march,” one Centurion questioned. “But not to break down the camp. Are we attacking Echetla?”

  “We are not attacking. Bear with me,” offered Gaius as he turned to Alerio. “Tesserarius. Get a count and I’ll initial your total.”

  As Alerio counted and marked down the number of bars, the remaining Centurions and their Corporal’s entered and stared at the fortune in precious metal. Gaius took the quill, wrote Alerio Sisera and the number three beside Alerio’s name. Next, he signed the document Gaius Claudius and handed the quill back to a shocked Alerio. Then the Senior Tribune faced the officers and their NCOs.

  “In the morning, a combined force of Syracuse and Echetla soldiers are coming to kill or enslave us,” Gaius announced. Mumbling ran through the assembled Legionaries. The Senior Tribune waited for it to die down. “We are leaving Echetla. And we are leaving anything that will slow us down. I want them to see fires, clothing on lines, and tents when their commanders look over the wall while releasing their morning urinae.”

  “Sir. We can carry all of our gear,” a Corporal assured the Tribune.

  “Not this time. Food, water, and weapons,” Gaius listed. “Nothing else. We have to make the crossroads near Catania, then do the same distance to reach the Legions at Syracuse. It’s over a week of hard marching. And I don’t think our enemies will simply let us dance away on the morning dew.”

  A couple of the Centurions protested but Gaius silenced them.

  “I realize it will be a financial loss for the Centuries,” Tribune Claudius acknowledged. “That’s why Corporal Sisera is going to distribute gold to your Tesserarii. While they collect for your Centuries, I need you organizing the march. Centurion of Cavalry, a word, the rest of you are dismissed.”