Rome's Tribune (Clay Warrior Stories Book 14)

by J. Clifton Slater

  “You are not accused of philandering,” the Judge reminded him. “The charge is murder. If you will not discuss the crime, I will call for the voice of the choir.”

  The tradesman dropped his head as if it were too heavy to hold erect. Veins and tendons lining his long neck strained against his skin. And to accent his emotional state, his shoulder’s shook as he cried.

  “I liked Febe. She was entertaining, lively, and pretty for an older woman,” Hyperion enlightened the attendees. In response to his compliments about another man’s wife, eyes shifted to see Dryas’ reaction. The metalsmith stood dry eyed and stiff. His hands clamped into fists and held rigid at his sides while the tradesman continued. “She started like the others. Light and loose just as I prefer. I make deliveries around the city and a scandal would hurt my business. But weeks after getting Febe’s attention, she became bolder. Meeting me in the alleyway for a hug and a quick kiss. I was uncomfortable and told her so.”

  The crowd leaned forward so as not to miss any of his story. Not so much to evaluate Hyperion, they already knew he was guilty. What they wanted were titillating details to add when they recited the tale to their friends.

  Alerio shifted uncomfortably. To the Tribune, none of this was an excuse or a reason to kill a woman and make a husband, a widower. Given a chance, Alerio would stab the tradesman in the heart and be done with the matter. To save him from this drawn out trial, Alerio second guessed his decision to bring back the tradesman.

  ‘Better I killed him on the trail,’ Alerio thought, ’then sit through the drivel of a man with no honor.’

  Unaware of the action, Alerio’s hand moved to the hilt of his knife. A soft hand covered his preventing him from drawing the weapon. He had no intention of pulling the blade. But Gabriella’s gentle touch felt wonderful. Alerio maintained a slight upward pressure as if her hand kept his in check. Assassins weren’t the only ones who used subterfuge.

  “In answer to my rejection of her affection,” Hyperion resumed, “Febe began giving me gifts. It was precious stones a couple of times, slivers of silver at others. Then she began talking about leaving her husband and running away with me. I am a young man, why would I want an old woman for a mate? But I am also a tradesman and to reject her outright would cost me her husband’s business.”

  ‘Not the heart,’ Alerio reconsidered. ‘Now I want to stab him in the eye.’

  “To deflect her insistence on running away with me, I explained that I had no coins for such an adventure,” Hyperion rationalized. “I went about my business, thinking I had calmed the frenzied female. However, on my next visit, she passed me a square of gold with instructions to meet her that night. You must understand, I didn’t know what to do. I certainly did not want to take her away with me.”

  Alerio vibrated with pent up energy at the weak man’s plea. Enough so that Gabriella removed her hand.

  ‘Not the eye,’ Alerio contemplated. ‘I’ll cut his throat and watch him choke on his own blood.’

  Hyperion scanned the crowd looking for faces sympathetic to his dilemma.

  “Please have mercy on me,” he begged when no one seemed to side with him. “I did not ask her to steal the gold. Or to leap to conclusions. Or create a fantasy about me and her together. I tried to get away, yet she found me in the rain. We argued as I walked her back in the direction of the shop. Then she pulled a knife and forced me into an alley. She was going to cut me, then call the guard, and accuse me of lechery against her. We struggled and somehow I got the knife away from her.”

  The Marshal took a threatening step towards him but stopped.

  “You stabbed Febe Chrysós ten times,” the Judge commented. “That is not self-defense. I put it to the choir. Guilty or innocent?”

  The voice of the choir was a unanimous, “Guilty.”

  “Hyperion the tradesman, you will be drowned in the sea,” the Judge declared. “Or you may drink a mixture of hemlock. Decide now, the sentence is to be carried out immediately.”

  ***

  The tall tradesman’s knees buckled, and he dropped downward before catching himself. From the change in posture, Alerio recognized the wabbly stance of a guilty man.

  “I assume they will release Dryas Chrysós now,” Alerio offered. “I was glad to help bring him justice.”

  “Unfortunately, Master Chrysós must await Archimedes’ findings,” Gabriella told him.

  “But the goldsmith is an honest man,” Nicholas protested. “Everyone says he is beyond reproach. His shop is a favorite of the King. I only suggested deceit to stop the trial. And it did, didn’t it?”

  Alerio recalled Dryas’ leaning when the purity issue was introduced.

  “Nicholas. Did you question Dryas before challenging the purity of the crown?” Alerio asked.

  “No. He is a well-respected…” Nicholas stopped when Archimedes appeared.

  It wasn’t the presence of the inventor or his sudden entrance. What stopped Nicholas DeMarco were the hat and robes of a scholar. With the robe streaming behind him, Archimedes marched to the front of the room.

  “I have findings to present,” the inventor declared.

  “Please, by all means Master Phidias, present your conclusions,” the Judge invited.

  “After extensive study and experimentation,” Archimedes announced. “I find the Crown of Plutus light in gold. It is my learned opinion that the coronet is far from being pure gold.”

  “Dryas Chrysós, you stand accused of crimes against the people of Syracuse, an attempted conspiracy to defraud your King,” the Judge listed, “and most grievous of all, instituting a scheme to insult and disgrace the God Plutus, his Temple, and his followers.”

  Jeers rose from the attendees. The Marshal allowed for a short display before he signaled for them to settle.

  “What do you have to say for yourself, Master Chrysós?” the Judge inquired.

  “Febe was younger than me but I loved her with all of my soul,” Dryas admitted. “When the gold went missing, I knew Febe took the piece. I knew but could do nothing about the theft. Nothing my heart would allow. So, to keep her secret, I added silver to the molten gold and made up the difference. Before I could speak to Febe, the guards broke in and informed me of her death.”

  Dryas folded his arms in front of his chest, closed his eyes, and stood as if waiting for the roof to fall on him. Then, it did.

  “For your horrendous crimes against humanity and the Gods,” the Judge decreed, “you will be strapped to a plank by iron about the neck, wrists, and ankles. Raised to the sky, you will bake and plead with the Sun God Helios for relief. If exposure does not end your life, eventually the crows feasting on your flesh will deliver justice. As it is ordered, let it be, take the condemned away.”

  Alerio’s mouth dropped open and he shook his head to clear his thoughts. He had used his contacts and brought back the killer only to have the goldsmith receive a punishment harsher than the tradesman.

  While Alerio contemplated Dryas’ sacrifice for love and Alerio’s part in the man’s awful punishment, Archimedes rushed to Nicholas. The men hugged in celebration. Gabriella smiled and gazed upon her brother and the inventor with delight.

  “We did it,” Archimedes shouted. “The calculations need better measurements, but the formula works.”

  With their arms linked, Nicholas and Archimedes hopped and danced around.

  “Your calculations just sent a good man to a gruesome death,” Alerio pointed out. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “As the Philosopher Socrates stated,” Nicholas lectured Alerio. “There is only one good, knowledge. And one evil, ignorance.”

  Alerio glared at Gabriella and before thinking, he exploded.

  “You accuse me of being a blood thirsty warrior. And that’s not good enough for you,” Alerio lambasted her. “Yet you stand by smiling while academics use science to build inhumane traps and send a sweet, lovestruck man to suffer under the beaks of crows. And for that you smile.”

 
Alerio stomped to the doorway shoving his way through the crowd. Once out of the hearing room, he jogged back to the inn to burn off his anger.

  ***

  In the morning, a messenger arrived at the Starfish inn.

  “I have a message for Alerio Sisera,” he informed the proprietor.

  “Sisera checked out last night,” the inn keeper replied. “His passage to the Isle of Rhodes came into port.”

  “When does it row out?” the courier asked.

  “This morning, if I remember Sisera’s comment about, not soon enough,” the inn keeper related. “I’m afraid it’s too late to get a message to him. Who is it from?”

  “It can’t be that important,” the messenger described. “It’s an invitation to breakfast from Lady Gabriella DeMarco.”

  Chapter 15 – Wind Dancer

  The sun climbed high but had yet to reach the summit of the sky. Below the orange ball, the water of Syracuse Bay was glazed over in the calm of late morning. Until the mouth of the harbor, the bay rested as flat as a wheat field, except for the wake behind a single transport.

  “Stroke, stroke,” Captain Tivadar called from the rear oar. Six oarsmen went through the repetitions of rowing a merchant ship as he steered. “Walk it together. Stroke, stroke.”

  From the protected harbor, the ship rowed into the Ionian Sea and rolled gently in the rougher waters.

  “Not to worry,” Tivadar guaranteed the crew when a high wave rocked the deck. “The Aura is a wind dancer.”

  Alerio glanced fore and aft and stepped while pulling and pushing his oar.

  “Not to be rude,” Alerio remarked, “but this is a floating bowl. I can’t imagine naming this boat after a nymph of the breeze.”

  “She is seventy-five feet long, eighteen feet across at the beam,” the Captain described. “But the key to her dancing and sea worthiness are the twelve feet of draft. Her big belly keeps the Aura flowing with the wind and as stable as a Spartan shield wall.”

  From the Captain’s choice of words, Alerio knew he was Peloponnesian and a fan of Sparta. A wind whipped across the deck blowing from the Southeast. Another caught the side boards and the deck tilted.

  “Unroll the sails. Let’s give her some air,” Tivadar instructed. “Now Sisera, you’ll see her dance.”

  The two sails dropped and filled with wind. As the Captain promised, the big merchant ship steadied and began smoothly rocking up and down while cutting through the waves. Although slow, the rhythmic movement could be called a dance.

  “What do you think, now?” Tivadar inquired.

  “It…”

  “She, Sisera. Do not insult the Aura,” the Captain warned. “It will be two days before we see land again. And the only solid surface for miles upon miles is the deck of my girl.”

  “She dances well,” Alerio complimented as he shoved his oar under the steering platform. “The sun is off my right shoulder. If we are sailing east, shouldn’t it be in my eyes?”

  “You must have an understanding of navigation because you are correct,” Tivadar submitted. “Our track to the northeast is to offset the sea current coming from the north. Closer to Peloponnese, the current will come from the south.”

  “What happens in the center?” Alerio questioned.

  “We become a hole in the water for a black night, a day, and another black night,” Tivadar answered. “But not to worry, the Aura will see us through.”

  Offered the rear oar, Alerio stepped up on the platform. With the handle under his right arm, he kept the sun on his right shoulder. To his surprise, the ship did not track to the northeast in the direction he steered. But due to the force of the current, the Aura ran almost directly eastward.

  ***

  Syracuse had faded below the horizon long before the sun dipped below the same empty skyline. Almost as if a beneficial tradeoff for an ocean-going vessel, the view of the deck and the rolling waves gave way to a sky filled with stars.

  “I have traveled on the sea overnight,” Alerio told the crew. “And I’ve seen the night sky from valleys and mountain tops. But nothing compares to this overhead dome.”

  “We are traveling via the circle of the bears,” Tivadar announced from the steering platform. The Captain held a wedge-shaped structure against the sky and directed the sailor on the rear oar. “Bring us to port. A little more. Good, hold that track.”

  “Circle of the bears?” Alerio asked.

  “There are two spots of light in the northern sky that never move,” Tivadar described. “The Egyptians call them the Indestructibles. From sunset to dawn, and some claim during the day, the heavenly bodies of Kochab and Mizar remain stationary in the sky. The Little Bear cluster revolves around Kochab. And Mizar anchors the center of Big Bear. When I line up this triangle with the Indestructibles, we are traveling in the circle of the bears.”

  Throughout the night, crew members took turns on the rear oar. Standing with him, another sailor held the triangle up to the sky to keep the Aura in the circle of the bears and heading east.

  ***

  At the start of the second day, Tivadar stowed his triangle sticks and used his hand.

  “Starboard,” he directed the oarsman. With his hand held up to the side of the rising sun, the Captain judged their direction eastward. His experience dictated how many fingers off the blazing orb were required to stay on course. “A little more starboard. Good.”

  The sailor on the rear oar swung the handle. In jerking movements, the bow of the Aura shifted further to the right.

  As Tivadar used the sun to reset the heading, three sailors pulled out fishing lines. Another seaman unpacked what appeared to be a bronze shield.

  “Is there a threat?” Alerio asked. He stood and drew his gladius. “I don’t see an enemy.”

  “Oh, it’ll heat up soon enough,” the sailor advised as he placed the shield face down on a circle of bricks. “Once we have fish to put in the fire.”

  From bundles, the sailor pulled branches and chunks of charcoal. While the fishermen began landing and cleaning fish, flint struck iron and the wood flared to life. Alerio put away the gladius, drew his knife, and helped clean fish.

  The only fluid being spilled would be fish blood and the only slashes required were to remove scales. Baked fish, bread, and watered wine help the crew pass the day.

  Just before sunset, Tivadar did a hand check of their position. After adjusting the Aura, he pulled the triangle and waited for the Indestructibles to become visible in the evening sky.

  ***

  The steady whoosh of water passing along the hull seemed to grow louder with the setting of the sun. Part of it might be the lack of birds squawking. But sailors speaking in hushed tones was another reason. The lowered voices were a natural reflex handed down from ancestors attempting to hide from night predators and raiders.

  “Sisera. Do you know the story of how the Ionian Sea received its name?” Tivadar asked. His low-pitched voice was perfect for telling tales around a campfire.

  “I do not, Captain,” Alerio replied.

  “Then allow me to enlighten you. There once was a city on the edge of an unnamed sea,” Tivadar related. He sat on the steering platform and dangled his legs over the deck. “Today the land is part of Illyria. But at the time of this tale, King Epidamnus ruled a small kingdom by the sea. A stingy and mean man, King Epidamnus guarded his power carefully. One way was to forbid tradesmen and craftsmen from holding public office or serving as community leaders. His tightly controlled oligarchy consisted of his three sons and himself.”

  Tivadar reached for a wineskin. During the pause, the four off duty sailors moved closer to their Captain and Alerio so they could hear.

  “Dyrrhachus, the King’s eldest son married and had a son,” Tivadar continued. “Because he produced the only heir, Dyrrhachus became the country’s Magistrate. With nothing to occupy their time, the other two brothers grew lazy, caustic in their language, and bold with their criticisms. Noticing the shameful behavior, King Ep
idamnus banished them from the palace.”

  The Captain shifted, reached for a piece of fish and bread, put them in his mouth, and chewed for a few moments. When done, he rinsed down the food before returning to the story.

  “Dyrrhachus the Magistrate took pity on his brothers. He gave them gold to start businesses,” Tivadar described. “They prospered and became rich men. However, because of the King’s law neither could hold public office or have a say in the rules that regulated their businesses. These captains of commerce grew irate and jealous at the lack of control. Forgetting their time in the palace, or maybe remembering it too fondly, they bridled at the sight of Dyrrhachus’ son and heir to the throne living the life of a nobleman. Together, the two brothers plotted an overthrow of their sibling and their father.”

  The Captain stood and crossed the steering platform. After checking their course against the circle of the bears, he returned to the edge of the deck.

  “Where was I? Ah, with their wealth, the tradesmen brothers raised an army and marched towards the capital city of Durrës,” Tivadar told Alerio and the sailors. “By coincidence, the hero Heracles arrived for a visit with King Epidamnus. Despite the looming threat, a midday feast was organized for the demigod. Dyrrhachus’ son became enamored with Heracles and choose to sit beside the hero. While they dined the army of mercenaries arrived and the brothers called challenges to Dyrrhachus and the King. Hearing his host insulted, Heracles donned his armor and went to face the brothers. Seeing an advantage with the demigod on his side, Dyrrhachus called out his army and marched them from the palace. Unknown to Dyrrhachus, his son Ionius put on his grandfather’s old armor and marched out with the Durrës army.”

  The Captain took a sip of wine and glanced up at the stars. Figuring the Aura was on course, he continued.

  “On one side, Magistrate Dyrrhachus commanded the King’s army,” Tivadar explained, “facing him were the usurpers. When the brothers saw Heracles, they trembled. But having invested so much gold in the venture, they concentrated their forces and sent wave upon wave of soldiers against the hero. Time and time again, Heracles was surrounded. And after each skirmish, the hero remained among the living while the mercenaries died. Rather than attack the distracted enemy, Dyrrhachus and his army idled in their formations, watching the hero fight their battle. But war takes a toll, and even heroes get tired. When Heracles staggered from blood loss, only one warrior from Durrës raced to the hero’s side. The fighting was furious with blades cutting armor and slicing flesh. After the frenzy ended, only Heracles lived. At his feet lay a body dressed in Durrës armor. The bronze was shredded by slashes only a demigod could have delivered.”