“What is the name of this Legion?” Calatinus asked.
“Calatinus Legion South,” a metalsmith responded.
“And my titles?” Calatinus questioned.
“Co-Consul of the Republic,” two metalworkers conceded, “and General of the Legion.”
“Exactly. Now step up and we will weigh out the metal for the castings,” Calatinus offered. “And tradesman, I expect the finished awards to equal on the scale the amount you receive.”
The five metalworkers crowded around the desk watching to be sure the scales were balanced. None of them wanted to be shorted and charged later for the lost gold, silver, or copper.
***
Two days later, the Centuries were lined up by Maniple. With the burials done and prayers uttered over graves, it was time for healing, a feast, and a celebration of the survivors. General Calatinus and Colonel Digessi stepped up on a platform to preside over the dawn sacrifices.
“Goddess Victoria, we thank you for delivering us from defeat,” the General announced. “God Averruncus, we owe you for averting a calamity.”
“Bellona, Goddess of War, we trust that you look down with pride on your fighting Legionaries and their officers,” the Colonel continued intoning for the deities. “And as always, Goddess Algea, we strive to deliver your blessings to our foes.”
Shouts of Euge! Euge! came from the ranks of Legionaries. Obviously, the bravos acknowledged the infantry’s appreciation for the Goddess of Pain.
General Calatinus waited for the cheering to fade before adding other gods to the thanks.
“Jupiter, the Sky Father, we know you watch over us as any good shepherd guards his flock,” Calatinus boomed. “And because we are the swords of Rome and the fighting men of the Republic, we give thanks to Mars, our God of War.”
The Legionaries roared their approval and bonfires flared to life. In the backdrop of flames and crackling wood, priests ran to bulls, sheep, cows, goats, and chickens. And even through the screen of smoke, the Legionaries saw holy men cut the throats of the sacrificial beast.
When the drama drew to a close and the priests began towing the animals to the butchers, the General and Colonel raised their arms for attention.
“Together we experienced a narrow victory,” Calatinus exclaimed. “But we fought our way free and with the heroism of a few, the Legion survived.”
“As one, we will honor those who stepped forward in places and made a difference,” Digessi inhaled deeply to gather breath for the rest of his pronouncements.
But, to everyone’s surprise, Senior Centurion Sanctoris leaped to the platform.
“Pardon, General, Colonel. Before you continue,” the Legion’s senior combat officer declared. “The Centuries will have a voice.”
“What say, the Legion?” General Calatinus inquired.
Sanctoris reached into a pouch and extracted a circular object. Lifting it overhead, he displayed a wreath of woven grass.
Cheering erupted in a volume that far exceeded any of the previous outbursts.
“The men have voted a unique award,” the Senior Centurion exclaimed. “One not in the authority of a General or a Battle Commander to grant. Nor in the power of a Consul or the Senator or any High Priest even of the mightiest temple to confer. I hold before you the Grass Crown.”
“The will of the Legion shall be done,” Colonel Digessi promised. “But who deserves this great honor? And for what act of bravery?”
“Marcus Calpurnius Flamma, Tribune of Rome,” Sanctoris bellowed the name in a voice that commanded thousands during a battle. It carried to the ranks and beyond. Then he called for the winner. “Rome’s Tribune present yourself to the Legion.”
Holding a pole upright, Alerio Sisera marched from the rear of the Centuries. At the top of the pole, Tribune armor, a staff officer’s helmet, and a gladius hung from a cross piece. He stopped near the forward rank of the Legion and stood still for several moments.
Then six muscular Legionaries shouldering an open litter marched into view. Reclining on the litter, Marcus Flamma weakly raised his good arm and acknowledged the hailing.
The motion only served to increase the cheering and that motivated Marcus. As his porters reached the front rank and stopped beside Tribune Sisera, he added the splinted arm to his waving.
“Go easy there, King Leonidas,” Alerio cautioned. “You are still recovering.”
“Do you suppose this was what it was like?” Marcus inquired.
“What it was like?” Alerio questioned.
“When King Leonidas arrived at the Elysium Fields,” Marcus told him.
“Tribune Flamma, you can ask him yourself someday,” Alerio suggested. “Because you have earned your place in the fields for heroes.”
“Forward, sirs?” an Optio of the porters asked.
“Forward,” Marcus instructed.
Chapter 10 – Professional in All Things
A day after the celebration of heroes, a messenger arrived at Second Maniple.
“Tribune Sisera, you are wanted at the command tent,” the Junior Tribune announced.
“Have someone take my gear,” Alerio told Blatium. “I’ll catch up with you on the route.”
Around them, the Legionaries of the Maniple were packing and getting ready for the march.
“No, sir,” the junior staff officer clarified. “You are to bring all of your belongings.”
“They finally caught up with me, Centurion,” Alerio offered. “Hopefully, my replacement, when he arrives from the Capital, will be a proper gentleman.”
“You are a proper commander, Tribune Sisera,” Blatium complimented him. Then the combat officer added. “You are a little rough around the edges for a staff officer. But sir, I’ll fight besides you any day.”
“That’s all an officer can ask of this life,” Alerio said before saluting the Centurion.
After picking up his gear and balancing it on his shoulder, Alerio marched to the command tent. The side tents for sleeping and storage were already packed in a wagon. He dropped his load outside the single big tent and marched through the entrance.
***
“Sirs. Tribune Sisera reporting,” he announced himself.
It seemed the thing to do as the two commanders were the only ones in the tent. No Junior Tribunes or servants were around to do the formal announcement.
“Come over here, Alerio,” General Calatinus invited him.
“You sent for me, sir?” Alerio said letting the General know, in case he forgot, that Alerio was answering a summons.
As soon as Alerio thought it, he checked his recent history. Had he done anything to warrant charges?
“Relax Sisera,” Colonel Digessi offered as if he read Alerio’s thoughts. “We have some questions for you.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll answer to the best of my ability,” Alerio promised.
“Yesterday at the award ceremony,” Calatinus inquired, “were you bothered or disgraced by the story of Marcus Flamma crawling back to warn the Legion about the Iberians?”
“No, sir,” Alerio replied truthfully.
“Not troubled even a little by the acclaim showered on Flamma?” Digessi insisted. “Granted he took the three hundred to the cliff. But in reality, you brought him out. If it wasn’t for you, he would have died up there. And that doesn’t get under your skin, just a little?”
“No sir. To be honest, it was partially my fault the story spread like it did,” Alerio informed them.
“Can you explain that?” Calatinus asked.
“Well General, I brought in a Legionary to stitch Tribune Flamma’s wounds and another to set his broken bones,” Alerio told him. “While they worked, I allowed them to think he made his way back alone to warn the Legion.”
“I know your Father,” Calatinus stated.
Alerio almost smiled. As a member of an opposing political faction, Aulus Calatinus sat across the Senate from Spurius Maximus. The phrase, ‘I know your father’, could be translated to ‘I fe
ar angering your adopted father’. That then gave reason for the questioning. They didn’t want Alerio upset and running to his father with complaints.
“Yes, sir,” Alerio acknowledged.
“He sent you a package,” Digessi explained.
The Colonel picked up a bundle from behind his legs and handed it to Alerio.
“Somehow it got opened by a servant,” Calatinus warned excusing the invasion when he noticed Alerio inspecting the ripped cloth. “But I can assure you, nothing is missing.”
Resting the package on the ground, Alerio pulled his Legion dagger and sliced it open the rest of the way. He peeled the cloth back and his hand hovered over a gladius, a dagger, ten gold coins, and a letter.
Tribune Alerio Carvilius Sisera
Calatinus Legion South, Sicilia
Dear son,
I trust your health is good and your humors are in balance. Enclosed is a small token of my esteem and examples of the result from the northern expedition you suggested. We are getting close to where you must make a decision: Go into politics, or if you prefer, we can buy you an infantry Maniple.
After the campaign season, we will talk more.
Your father, a citizen, and a Senator of the Republic
Spurius Carvilius Maximus
Alerio pulled his gladius and replaced it with the new sword. Then he gripped the dagger and tested the weight. Standing, he displayed the blade to Calatinus and Digessi.
“It’s called Noric Steel,” he described. “Harder and holds an edge without chipping. A fine gift, wouldn’t you say.”
“We have a dilemma,” Digessi confessed after long moments of staring at the knife. “Tribune Flamma was supposed to go on a mission as a military attaché.”
“But in his present condition,” Calatinus exclaimed, “he is in no shape to represent the Legion of the Republic.”
“I stand ready for whatever the Republic needs, sir,” Alerio declared. “Why did you wait so long to ask me?”
“Because, you are not qualified for a diplomatic mission,” the Colonel answered. “Not in education, breeding, or in temperament. We felt that you were more likely to start a war than to form an alliance.”
“What changed?” Alerio inquired.
“While we are defeating the Empire forces on land, despite recent events,” Calatinus stated referring to the ambush of the Legion. “Our fleet is still at a disadvantage and unable to cast a wide net of protection over our merchants. The Senate is desperate for treaties with countries that have fleets.”
“Where am I going, sir?” Alerio asked.
“The Isle of Rhodes,” Digessi told him. “You’ll be heading east with Marcus Flamma and the other wounded. They will continue to Messina. But you will disembark at Syracuse. From there, you can catch a merchant vessel to Rhodes.”
The Colonel handed Alerio a scroll with the written assignment. After reading it, Alerio squared his shoulders and looked Consul/General Calatinus in the eyes.
“Why are you really sending me to Rhodes, sir?” he demanded.
“The Rhodians are refined, organized, and professional in all things. You are arrogant, quick tempered, and hard to get along with,” Calatinus confessed. “I am sending you because you will fail, tremendously. And when you fall on your face, your disgrace will reflect badly on your adopted father. And that, Tribune Sisera, is why I am sending you. Dismissed.”
Alerio braced and saluted. Then he collected his package and marched out of the tent. As he repacked his gear, a thought occurred to Alerio. Although Calatinus’ words seemed to be a blatant challenge, underneath the man’s bravado, the Consul really did fear Senator Maximus.
Once packed, Alerio headed for the wagon park. While hiking through the vanishing structures of the marching camp, he mouthed these words over and over again, “I will not fail. I will not fail. I will not fail.”
***
The warship shoved off the beach, the oarsmen took the quinquereme into deep water, and navigators turned the bow to an easterly heading.
“That is Sicilia for this year,” Alerio remarked as the coastline glided by.
“More than this year,” Marcus remarked.
“Whatever are you talking about?” Alerio inquired. Reaching down, he adjusted the blanket draped over Tribune Flamma’s legs. “You will be healed before spring.”
“I am retiring my position,” Marcus confessed. He patted the broken leg and waved his broken arm in the air. “Thanks to you, I have earned all the glory I ever wanted. My family will be proud. And now, they will allow me to oversee my father’s farms and continue my studies.”
“They gave me your assignment to Rhodes,” Alerio told him.
“You are a good choice,” Marcus complimented his fellow Tribune. “I can’t imagine a better representative from the Republic military.”
“You and I aren’t exactly harvested from the same field,” Alerio observed. “You are a reader and a thinker. I am more brash and enjoy playing with blades. How can you say I am a good choice?”
“It goes to the approach,” Marcus replied. “Should we present a deceitful face and attempt to falsely emulate the Rhodians? Or is it better to show them the strength of our planning, our will, and our discipline?”
“Me being successful as a diplomat is a sentiment not shared by Consul Calatinus or our esteemed Battle Commander,” Alerio stated. “Based on their expectations, I worship at the feet of Coalemus and thrive off the God’s blessings.”
“You have nothing from the God of Stupid,” Marcus assured Alerio. “Your common sense will carry you through the mission.”
“What are the Rhodians like?” Alerio asked. “Colonel Digessi called them refined, organized, and professional in everything. In truth, I’m not sure what that means.”
“I read a lot of travel journals and scrolls from the modern world,” Marcus exclaimed. “How do I put this without frightening you? Rhodes is presented in all of the literature as a wealthy, educated paradise.”
“It can’t be that perfect,” Alerio begged.
“Not to push the issue,” Marcus cautioned. “But their main harbor is guarded by a one hundred and five-foot statue to their Sun God Helios. It is called the Colossus of Rhodes.”
“Sounds impressive,” Alerio granted. “But come on, Marcus, they are just people.”
“The Rhodians have embraced the philosopher Aristotle’s Golden Mean,” Marcus explained. “They do all things in moderation as he proscribed.”
“They sound like a fun group,” Alerio commented.
“And the straight streets of their Capital are from a layout by Hippodamus, another philosopher,” Marcus described. “Plus, although small, the Rhodians Navy is among the world’s most feared. They fight piracy and enforce a set of maritime laws for their merchant ships.”
“Marcus please stop before I break my own arm and leg to get out of this mission,” Alerio complained. “How were you going to handle the assignment?”
“By keeping my gladius in its scabbard, my dagger in its sheath, and my mouth shut,” Marcus listed. “My intake of vino to a minimum and my eyes and ears attuned for knowledge.”
“Those Rhodians sound like Priests from a temple,” Alerio noted. “Recently, I haven’t had much luck with Priests.”
“For this mission, you will have to be diplomatic,” Marcus instructed. “The Republic’s trade with Asia Minor depends on eventually reaching a mutual defense treaty with the Isle of Rhodes. You are the first step towards the agreement.”
“Or the last pace before a political abyss,” Alerio remarked.
He sat on the deck beside Marcus and, together, they watched the shoreline pass by.
***
Two days later, Marcus Flamma shifted onto the elbow of his good arm and watched Alerio march down the ramp to the dock. Then the navigators fluttered their rear oars and the warship nosed away from the pier. In moments, Marcus lost his view of the city as one hundred and eighty oars dug into the water. When the mo
uth of Syracuse Bay replaced his view of stone walls and buildings, the sails were raised. Smoothly, the ship tracked out of the sheltered waters and towards the mouth of the Messina Strait.
As the Republic warship left the bay, Alerio reached the end of the docks.
“Where is the Harbor Master’s office,” he asked a street urchin.
“I am not sure, Master,” the boy exclaimed. Crossing his arms, he pointed to opposite sides of the busy harbor. “It might be to the east. Then again, it might be to the west.”
After fishing a bronze coin from his money pouch, Alerio held it out.
“Does this help your recollection,” he inquired. “Or should I ask someone with a better memory?”
“Four streets to your left,” the boy explained as he snatched away the coin. “It’s the big white building.”
The urchin dashed off and Alerio looked around. Most of the buildings located at the harbor of Syracuse were painted white.
“Was the boy misleading for revenge or animosity towards a Latian?” Alerio mumbled. Then he addressed the absent boy. “Your problem little man is you went too far in the lie.”
Legion NCOs learned quickly when an infantryman was dancing around the truth. The first hint of a lie always included too much detail. And the mention of a white building in a sea of white buildings qualified as an inessential fact.
He faced to his left instead of right, walked two blocks, and located the Harbor Master’s office.
***
Alerio entered the building to find a gross waste of space. Small offices lined both sides of a large room. A well-attended feast would fit nicely in the area. But no multitude of diners or servers populated the expanse. Instead, a single man lounging on a couch, two armored guards, a slave, and a secretary occupied the space.
“I seek passage on a merchant ship,” Alerio informed the man reclining on the sofa. The slave standing behind the Harbor Master fanned him with a linen cloth stretched over a framework of small rods. Curious about the framing material, he inquired. “Excuse me, but what wood is that?”
“The linen is held in place by Egyptian papyrus reeds,” the Harbor Master reported. “Is Egypt your destination? If so, we have many merchants visiting from the river valley of the Nile. I can recommend several trustworthy Captains.”
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