Rome's Tribune (Clay Warrior Stories Book 14)

by J. Clifton Slater

  Tivadar yawned and stretched as if exhaustion would end the tale.

  “No, finish the story,” the sailors protested.

  “If I must,” Tivadar said giving in to them. He smiled in the dark and continued. “Seeing the serrated armor, Dyrrhachus finally sent his army against his brothers while he rode to the body. Turning the warrior over, the Magistrate gazed at the face of his son, Ionius. Heracles bent and lifted the boy to his chest. Then with the grieving father in tow, the demigod walked from the battlefield to the edge of the unnamed waters. There Heracles declared, I anoint these waters with the body of this hero. Then he tossed Ionius into the sea. And that is how this body of water came to be called the Ionian Sea.”

  “Is that true?” Alerio asked.

  “Who knows,” Tivadar admitted. “It’s one of many legends about the Ionian. But Aristotle used the story to demonstrate one of his ideas.”

  “Which one?” Alerio questioned.

  “The philosopher proposed that the most perfect political community is one in which the middle class is in control, and outnumbers both of the other classes,” Tivadar quoted.

  “Myth, legend, or an example for a dissertation,” Alerio remarked, “none of that matters. What happened was a failure of command.”

  “How so?” the Captain asked.

  “First, King Epidamnus needed to leave his palace and make an appearance on the battlefield. The absence of their General hurt the morale of his army. Had they been motivated, the soldiers would not have stood by while others fought for them,” Alerio explained. “And Dyrrhachus missed an opportunity. Any quality Battle Commander would have taken advantage of an enemy combat line that collapsed to focus on one unit. In this case Heracles.”

  “That’s a very practical take on the story,” Tivadar pointed out. “What are you, a Hoplite?”

  “No, sir,” Alerio replied. “I am a Tribune in the Legion of the Republic.”

  ***

  Dawn found the deck of the Aura wind swept and enclosed in torrents of rain.

  “Stroke, stroke, walk them together,” Tivadar shouted.

  Most of his words were brushed away by the storm. But the sailors and Alerio got the idea. And although they couldn’t see across the deck to their counterparts, the three on either side managed to coordinate the dips and lifts of their oars.

  With no sun or stars to guide the ship, Alerio hoped Captain Tivadar’s experience would hold the transport to the proper heading. And while the question of direction without navigation caused a concern, the Aura moved stately through the rolling swells. She might have been a sow compared to a sleek warship, but her size kept the top boards above the water line.

  “This is not good,” Tivadar bellowed the warning.

  “Is there a problem?” Alerio called to the Captain.

  “We are half a day’s journey from the Peloponnesian coast,” Tivadar called back.

  As he walked the oar, Alerio worried about being lost a sea.

  “How long can we last?” Alerio screamed into the wind.

  “The ship?” Tivadar questioned. “She’ll float for months. I was complaining that we might miss Vromoneri when we reach land.”

  “Captain, please, not that,” the rower behind Alerio whined.

  During a raging storm far from the coast and blind to navigational aids, the crew and the Captain were not panicked. They took the weather in stride. Except for the possibility of making landfall somewhere other than a place named Vromoneri.

  “What is Vromoneri?” Alerio asked.

  “A sheltered harbor with deep water,” Tivadar replied. “Merchants from up and down the coast land there. It makes for a good trading market.”

  “And there’s a gentlemen’s club,” the front rower exclaimed. “with the most dramatic women in the world. You will love them.”

  Alerio did not respond. But his mind offered an unspoken thought, ‘I left enough drama in Syracuse to last me for the year. At this point in my life, I don’t need any more.’

  Chapter 15 – Drama and Thieves

  The sheets of rain parted and after a few last drops on the deck, the vista over the fore deck cleared. A distant mound of land appeared off the right side of the bow.

  “Raise the sails,” Tivadar ordered, “but keep your oars.”

  “Is that Vromoneri?” Alerio questioned.

  “That, Sisera, is the coastal island of Porti,” the Captain whined. “It breaks the surface five miles north of Vromoneri.

  “Sir, you navigated to within five miles of our destination across open water,” Alerio complimented. “Surely you have a gift from Hermes.”

  “The God of Travel and Trade does deserve a sacrifice,” Tivadar acknowledged. “But I was aiming for Methoni, twenty-two miles south of here. It was the crewmen who wanted Vromoneri.”

  “And we’ll make a sacrifice to Hedone for the landing,” a crew member shouted.

  “You’ll be thanking the Goddess of Pleasure when you are hungover, holding a belly full of sour wine, and rowing against the current,” Tivadar offered. Then he explained to Alerio. “Methoni is farther south. From there, I planned to move up the coast to the Gulf of Corinth. But now, we will stop at Vromoneri first.”

  “Can we stop again on the way back?” another sailor asked.

  “No, we’ll sail right past it,” the Captain scolded. “I pay you to move cargo. Not to waste my time while you nurse a wine head.”

  “If it is a struggle to fight the current southward, why not skip Methoni and head north from Vromoneri?” Alerio asked.

  “During the Trojan War, King Agamemnon took Achilles prize for the sacking of the fortress at Lyrnessus,” Tivadar told him. “Deeply offended, Achilles not only refused to fight, but he prayed for defeat to punish the King.”

  “I can see the issue,” Alerio agreed. “But to pray for defeat over a little wealth sounds disrespectful to me.”

  “The prize for capturing the fortress, Sisera, was the stunning Briseis,” Tivadar pointed out. “And Achilles was infatuated with her.”

  “It wasn’t gold or silver causing dissension in the command structure,” Alerio considered. “The division came from a dispute over a woman.”

  “You say that like you have experience with women and drama,” Tivadar proposed.

  “Just one woman but lots of drama,” Alerio replied. “Please continue.”

  “King Agamemnon begged his hero to engage in the fighting. Achilles refused and withheld his men from the battle for Troy,” the Captain related. “During the pleading, Agamemnon offered populated cities as numerous as leaves on a vine. There were seven and the last city offered to Achilles was Methoni.”

  “You make it a port-of-call for historical reasons?” Alerio questioned.

  “No, Sisera, for sentimental reasons,” Tivadar replied. “Methoni is the place of my birth and where my wife and children live. But first we suffer Vromoneri. Stroke, stroke, stroke.”

  ***

  The Aura rolled out of the current and into the protective arms of the cove. On shore, campfires sent smoke into the air. High up, it drifted away on the breeze. But at ground level, the smog hugged the earth. Through the gray fog, Alerio could see buildings. One appeared to be a roof supported by columns over a raised floor.

  “That is the Melodrámatos Club,” Tivadar pointed out. “Drama girls dance there day and night. As long as there are men with coins, they put on shows. Later, if you want, a girl will invite you to her quarters in the small buildings. You can see them arranged around the backside of the club.”

  “No thanks,” Alerio stated. “I understand war and training men. Recently, I have discovered my inability to understand women.”

  “An ago old problem for men, Sisera, I can assure you,” Tivadar told him. “The wine and beer are usually good and there are other games.”

  “How long will we be here?” Alerio asked.

  “No longer than two days. One for my crew to indulge themselves,” Tivadar reported. “An
d another for them to sleep it off.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Alerio observed.

  “Not as much as you might think,” Tivadar informed him. He indicated two of the five ships in the cove. “Unlike a coastal trader, the Aura only serves deep harbors. Deep harbors attract all kind of vessels. And a wide variety of mariners and thieves. Two of those ships belong to Illyrian pirates. Usually, I would sail up the coast in a convoy. Or keep the crew on board to guard the ship.”

  “But here, you’ll allow them to go ashore,” Alerio guessed. “And you’ll do what? Stand guard by yourself.”

  “I don’t expect trouble,” Tivadar replied. “But just in case Phthonos whispers into the ears of a drunken Illyrian crew, I will remain on my ship.”

  Alerio glanced at the other vessels in the cove. The smallest transport, barely larger than a river craft, had little value while the two coastal traders contained cargo but lacked value as captured ships. Tivadar’s transport however, bobbed seductively in the swells, making her a tempting prize for the two Illyrian biremes.

  “No offense, but what will you do if the God of Envy does sends one hundred and twenty pirates to take your transport?” Alerio asked. “Die?”

  “Possibly,” Tivadar admitted. “But my crew deserves a little fun.”

  “Let me propose something to you,” Alerio offered. “Bring me a shield, food and drink, and I will stay and protect the Aura.”

  “I will personally deliver a feast and the shield,” Tivadar promised. Then to the crew he shouted. “Hold water. Prepare to drop anchor.”

  The big transport drifted to a stop as the idled oars resisted the forward momentum. Shortly after, two splashes, one fore and the other aft, announced the release of the anchors. With the transport stationary, the sailors dipped pails, pulled up buckets of water, and bathed.

  “You are going to miss the fun,” one sailor advised Alerio.

  “Then you have twice as much fun,” Alerio responded. “Once for you and another for me.”

  “Twice as much fun,” the five crewmen shouted as they shoved a ramp from the deck to a large rock jutting from the water. After walking the ramp, they leaped into the water on the other side. “Twice as much fun.”

  Splashing to shore, they continued the chant while weaving through the campfires on the beach.

  “I’ll be back with your food,” Tivadar told Alerio.

  No one on the beach paid attention to the Aura. At least they didn’t appear to be interested. But Alerio caught more than one Illyrian making side-eyes in the direction of the fat merchant vessel.

  “Don’t forget the shield,” Alerio reminded the Captain.

  Tivadar strolled down the ramp and splashed ashore. When he left, Alerio pulled out the bundle with his armor, helmet, red cape, and grooming kit.

  Before dark, he planned on putting on a show for the pirates. A cautionary tale that would hopefully dissuade them from trying to seize the Aura.

  ***

  From the beach of Vromoneri, a pair of eyes scanned the Aura.

  “Murat. I may leave that transport to you in my will,” an Illyrian offered.

  Murat looked across the campfire at his Captain before gazing at the cove.

  “I was unaware you owned that ship,” Murat remarked.

  “I don’t as yet,” Bujar told his Lieutenant. “But I will, by dawn.”

  “In that case Captain, what can I do to enhance my inheritance?” Murat asked.

  He shifted around the fire until he sat next to Bujar. The Illyrians leaned inward and conversed in whispers.

  ***

  As good as his word, Tivadar returned with a shield laying across his arms. A two-fisted hunk of roasted beef, a loaf of bread, and a wineskin were heaped on the Hoplite shield.

  “I hope this is satisfactory,” he said while placing the load on the steering platform.

  Alerio unstacked the food and drink and strapped the shields to his forearm. Snapping his arm outward, the Legion Weapons’ Instructor shoved the shield forward before bringing it back in front of him. Constructed of stiff leather with a bronze face, the shield was old and dented, but also well-oiled and polished.

  The heavy and stout mankiller pleased Alerio.

  “Excellent shield,” he announced.

  “I was talking about the quantity of beef and bread,” Tivadar pointed out.

  “The food looks fine. But it is not a feast suitable for a last supper,” Alerio replied. “With this shield, it needn’t be.”

  The Captain departed, Alerio ate, and the sun moved steadily for its meeting with the sea. In the late afternoon, sounds of drums, pipes, and men laughing and cheering carried from the Melodrámatos Club.

  Before dark, Alerio stripped off his workman’s woolen shirt and pants. He picked up the bucket and prepared to put on a show of his own.

  ***

  In the back of the crowd at the Melodrámatos Club, two men watched as a girl twirled, dipped, and pranced.

  “Is their anybody on the transport?” Bujar asked.

  Murat walked away from the club, located a point of land where he could see the merchant ship, and peered at the Aura. After a long look, he went back inside.

  “One crewman is still onboard. I thought he was stripping for a swim,” Murat told his Captain. “But he didn’t. He is washing from a bucket.”

  “If he follows the normal practice,” Bujar proposed, “he’ll be heading for the club once he has bathed. I’ve paid the girls to occupy the crew and their Captain for a long time. Select a salvage crew and have them ready to take the ship after dark. Go watch our straggler and keep me informed.”

  The Illyrian Lieutenant moved back outside. After speaking to a few of his crew, Murat went to his vantage point. Expecting to see the sailor dressing, he was puzzled as the man poured olive oil into his hands. Then he began to rub the oil into his naked flesh. After coating his body with oil, the crewman began rubbing it off with a metal scraper.

  “Not the actions of a sailor,” Murat said with a shiver. “Rather than preparing for a night of drunken debauchery, he is performing a ritual.”

  When the man pulled on a short sleeved red tunic and picked up a set of chest armor, the Lieutenant understood. He raced back inside.

  “He is not a sailor,” Murat warned his Captain. “The straggler is a Legionary. And he has washed, oiled, and is dressing for battle.”

  “One man will not stand between me and that trophy,” Bujar declared. “Pick your salvage team from our best fighters. And to be sure no one interferes, send another seven to the beach.”

  “We’ll have your prize out of the cove and gone before the crew knows their ship is missing,” Murat vowed.

  “My ship,” Bujar said.

  “What was that Captain?” Murat inquired.

  “Before they know ‘my’ ship is missing,” Bujar replied. He turned to watch the dancing girl but added. “And kill that Legionary.”

  ***

  Lounging in a Roman bath allowed for an obligatory soak. The opposite held for field washing. A quick cleaning, get dressed, and get back to business was the norm. Leisurely washing, oiling, and scraping as Alerio had done wasted moments of one’s life. But he had to be sure the Illyrians saw him preparing for battle. Hopefully, seeing a Legionary would cause them to back away from attacking the Aura.

  Before sunset, Alerio pulled on his armor, locked the armored skirt around his waist, draped the red cape over his shoulders, and slipped on his Tribune’s helmet. Once dressed, the fully armored Legion officer began patrolling the deck.

  The sun wasn’t completely set when the first pair of pirates came for the Aura. Taking advantage of the sun’s rays streaming into the Legionary’s eyes, they swam to the seaward side and climbed the aft section.

  Alerio had demonstrated his readiness to fight with the display of armor, helmet, and gladius. And although he had put himself on view, he went with the doctrine of not showing an enemy all his gear.

  The first
two pirates crept up the back of the merchant ship. Climbing with confidence that the sun would blind the man guarding the vessel, they expected to make the steering deck before being discovered. They were wrong. The Hoplite shield arched down from the platform. It cracked the first one in the head and launched him back into the water. Then, the big, bronze oval rocked back and scraped the second Illyrian off the side boards. He splashed down and came up sputtering and bleeding.

  “Watch out for sharks,” Alerio warned while pulling back from where he leaned over the railing.

  A sneak attack served one of two purposes. Either it preceded an attack from that direction, or it acted as a diversion to draw guards out of position.

  Alerio could see the water behind the transport. There were no other swimmers or small boats. After delivering the warning about swimming with predators, he straightened from the rail and sprinted towards the fore deck to face the main attack.

  ***

  The aft assault had attempted to use the sun in Alerio’s eyes as cover. At the bow, the fading rays of the sun outlined the Legion officer and put the pirates in deep shadows.

  Two Illyrians had scrambled onto the fore deck and crouched for a moment. They might have been looking for the Legionary or waiting for help. The hands and heads of two more were just coming into view from over the side.

  Seventy-five feet of deck required twenty-two strides to cross. When Alerio reached his twentieth pace, he pushed off with his front leg. Holding his arms folded into his chest, he flew the last six feet, and touched down between the pirates on the fore deck.

  The Legion officer bent his knees to absorb the shock. Rocking his hips forward to torque his arms and back, he paused for a breath and held his arms together.