“The Rhodians don’t negotiate at sea, or board and ask questions,” the navigator said with a shudder. “With one hundred and ninety-six oarsmen, the trihemiolia has one purpose. And that is to sink any ship that offends them.”
“Now that you’ve had a history lesson, Tribune,” Abrax stated. “My infantrymen are going to run two on two drills. Would you like to watch?”
“I’ll do more than watch,” Alerio told him.
“You are an unusual Legion officer,” Abrax offered.
“How many have you met?” Alerio asked.
“Enough to know most staff officers from your Republic are more diplomat than warrior,” the Sergeant replied.
“Let me get my shield and gladius,” Alerio suggested. “Then we’ll see if I can change your mind.”
***
Three days later, the Gála apó Hathor rowed across a deep bay to Helatros Beach on the island of Kasos. For the first time since Alerio boarded the ship, the crew and Hoplites move slower and without purpose. Even Khnurn and Abrax relaxed their discipline. To reflect the attitude, almost everyone left the ship and began drinking wine while setting up campsites.
“Abrax. At every stop, you’ve had infantrymen in armor guarding the beach,” Alerio observed. “Yet here, you have two sailors patrolling the deck. Everyone else is on the beach and on holiday.”
“Kasos is under the protection of the Rhodian Navy, sir,” the Sergeant responded. He rotated his sore right shoulder to loosen the bruised muscles. “No pirate will come closer than Crete to an area controlled by the Isle of Rhodes. At least none who want to stay on the surface of the water.”
When Tribune Sisera joined in the sword and shield drills, the NCO did as well. His view of Republic officers had undergone a drastic revision thanks to Alerio’s demonstration of Legion shield work.
“How is the shoulder?” Alerio asked.
“It’s not the pain, Tribune,” Abrax responded. “It’s the bruising to my pride that hurts.”
From the mouth of the bay, a warship turned head on to the beach. For a moment, Alerio thought it was a trireme. But as the ship drew closer, he noted the stretched center section. The trihemiolia came on fast, then in a show of seamanship, all one hundred and seventy oars backstroked. And it stopped dead in the water.
Alerio had taught Legion rowing and appreciated the training that went into the coordinated backstroke. But the cessation of motion, as if the warship hit a submerged rock, went beyond a unified stroke. To change from full strokes to a sudden halt required power. Then as if to confirm his thoughts, the warship spun a half turn and rowed aft end to the beach.
“The Rhodian Navy has arrived,” Abrax announced. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with Captain Khnurn.”
“Is there going to be trouble?” Alerio asked as the two men strolled to where Captain Khnurn watched the maneuvers of the warship.
“They have one hundred and ninety-six Rhodian citizen rowers, plus infantrymen. I have eight Hoplites and eight oarsmen,” Abrax told him. “What do you think?”
***
The naval officer swaggered down the ramp, reached the beach, and marched directly to Captain Khnurn.
“What is the purpose of your visit to Kasos?” he demanded.
From beside Khnurn, Alerio studied the ship’s officer. His carried his shoulders stiff and rigid with one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other in the small of his back. Haughtiness rolled off him like sweat from a farmworker on a hot day.
“I am the Master of the Gála apó Hathor,” Khnurn replied. “We are a snail trader heading home to Alexandria.”
The naval officer nodded once, about faced, and started to walk away.
“Plus, one more thing,” Khnurn advised.
As if the Captain’s words were a prelude to a duel, the Rhodian officer spun around.
“And that is?” he asked.
“I have a diplomatic passenger for you,” Khnurn replied. He lifted an arm and indicated Alerio. “May I introduce Tribune Alerio Carvilius Sisera of the Roman Republic.”
“Another politician from across the Ionian Sea?” the officer stated without introducing himself. “Collect your things and get on board. Somehow, we’ll get you to Rhodes.”
“I don’t think so,” Alerio responded.
“You are on a mission to kiss Rhodian cōleī,” the officer submitted. “Get on board and let’s get you puckering.”
Alerio did not respond physically to the insult. But he did inquire, “Do you really want to do this?”
“Do what?” the naval officer challenged.
“Bleed out on the sand,” Alerio responded. “Be aware, I can gut you before any of your pretty sailors can come to your aid.”
The Rhodian officer drew his sword, stepped out with a leg, and lunged. Alerio’s palm smacked the side of the blade driving it off to the side. He pivoted his hip, jumped inside the naval officer’s guard, and chopped the wrist on the hand holding the weapon. The sword tumbled to the ground.
Alerio slugged the officer in the jaw and caught the Rhodian before he fell to the ground. None of the moves went unnoticed.
Shouts from the Rhodian warship preceded the squad of infantrymen. Dressed in armor with mid-sized shields, the ten scurried down the ramp and crossed the beach. They moved quickly, until stopping two body lengths from their officer. The reason for their hesitation, a knife blade hovered at his throat.
“I have a dilemma,” Alerio exclaimed. When the naval officer did not reply, Alerio drove a knee into the back of the Rhodian’s thigh. “I am speaking to you.”
“You are a dead man,” the naval officer snarled.
“No, I am Tribune Alerio Sisera,” Alerio corrected him. “And I am here as a military attaché.”
“Kill him,” the naval officer ordered his men.
“Hold,” Alerio instructed. “Someone please, tell me this idiot’s name. And the name of his father.”
When none of the infantrymen replied, Alerio violently jerked the naval officer from side to side. Despite his efforts to prevent it, the officer’s head flopped in rhythm with the abuse.
“Let me guess,” Alerio offered. “His father is an important man and bought his sad excuse for a progeny a commission in the Rhodian Navy.”
None of the infantrymen spoke but neither did they attack. They acted as if they were waiting for something. One glanced back, not at their warship but at the mouth of the inlet.
Two more trihemiolia warships power stroked into the bay. More impressive than the backstroke stop, the pair split apart before turning towards each other. Just missing a ram on ram collision, they curved in half circles. Both ships, then back stroked for the beach.
***
He came off the warship with an air of authority and two bodyguards. Unlike the first officer, who believed his status granted him influence, this naval officer had muscle and steel to enforce his will.
“Lieutenant Niels. Are you still investigating the Egyptian ship on the beach?” the senior Rhodian officer inquired.
“This savage laid hands on me, Commander,” Niels complained. “I demand satisfaction.”
“You there, holding the pretty blade against my Lieutenant’s neck,” the Commander asked, “can I get your name?”
The knee snapped up and drove into Niels’ leg. With pressure from Alerio’s forearm, the Lieutenant sank to the beach. Even as his leg buckled, his hand snaked out for the sword. But Alerio noticed the reach and planted a foot on the blade. Niels’ ended up on his hands and knees, the fingers of one hand trapped under the steel of his sword.
“I am Alerio Carvilius Sisera,” Alerio declared, “Tribune of the Republic’s Legion. I travel to the Isle of Rhodes as a military attaché.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” the senior Naval officer questioned.
With the tips of his fingers, Alerio rotated the knife and without looking, slid the blade into its sheath.
“How about, I didn’t slit
the throat of your silly little brat?” Alerio ventured.
“There is some value to that,” the Commander acknowledged.
Alerio noted that the Commander did not mention releasing Niels.
“Your name, sir?” Alerio requested.
“I am Izador, of the Rhodian Navy and Commander of Three Warships,” the officer answered.
“Allow me to make an observation,” Alerio offered without waiting for permission. “You are a more than competent commander. With a reputation for excellence, loyalty, and precision.”
“I like to think all Rhodian Captains fit that description,” Izador boasted.
“But not all Commanders of three are asked to babysit an important man’s son,” Alerio commented. “Who is Niels’ father? And is Daddy proud of him?”
“Very astute of you, Tribune Sisera,” Izador praised Alerio. “Lieutenant Evzen Niels is the eldest son of Chief Magistrate Kolya Niels.”
“By Chief Magistrate you mean for a township, a city, or a region?” Alerio inquired.
“Oh no, Tribune Sisera. Kolya Niels is Chief Magistrate for the Democracy of Rhodes and all our territories,” Izador inform him. “And you are under arrest. Please release my Lieutenant.”
Izador’s two bodyguards were faster than one would expect from big men. Each locked onto one of Alerio’s arms. Picking him up, they carried the Tribune for a body’s length.
Alerio fully expected to be slammed to the ground as punishment.
“Lieutenant Niels, one more step, and I will send you home,” Izador threatened, “bound in rope, alongside the Legion officer.”
“But Commander, he assaulted me,” Evzen Niels whined. “I demand the opportunity to fight him.”
“Tribune Sisera. What would happen if you fought my Lieutenant?” Izador inquired.
The bodyguards turned Alerio and switched sides. Once the three faced the Commander, Alerio looked at Abrax.
“Sergeant, because I am humble,” Alerio mused, “please explained to the Commander the result of a fight between me and Lieutenant Niels.”
The testimony of an authority figure would be more convincing than a brag from Alerio. Even if they didn’t know Abrax, the Commander had to recognize the words of a Hoplite NCO.
“I would never assume to judge an officer’s skill level. But, sir, I have been training Hoplites and serving in phalanx formations for sixteen years,” Abrax attested. He reached to his right shoulder and removed the clasp. When the tunic material fell away, an injury to his right shoulder became obvious. The entire deltoid muscle was coated in black and purple bruises. “Tribune Sisera did this to me while he fended off an attack from another infantryman. It’s not my place to tell you what to do, sir. But I would not allow any of my men to fight the Tribune.”
“The words of an experienced NCO are good enough for me,” Izador declared. “Permission denied. Lieutenant Niels put your blade away and resume command of your ship.”
For several heartbeats, the Naval Commander and Alerio waited to see what the Lieutenant decided. Demonstrating their dislike for Niels, the bodyguards released Alerio’s arms and stepped away.
In a huff, befitting a four-year-old’s temperament, Evzen Niels ran his sword into the scabbard with enough force to crack the guard. Then he turned his back and trudged towards his ship. Following behind, the ten-man infantry squad marched slowly as if fearing for their fate.
Izador raised a hand in the air, made a circle motion, and pointed a finger at Niels’ warship. From the commander’s vessel, an older officer traveled the ramp, crossed the beach, and took the ramp up to Niels’ deck.
“Sometimes the young need mentoring,” Izador mentioned. “My second in command will protect the crew.”
“The young do need coaching, sir,” Alerio agreed. “Does this mean I am not being detained?”
“Oh, Tribune Sisera, you are certainly under arrest,” Izador promised. “And you will stand trial.”
“In front of Chief Magistrate Niels?” Alerio questioned.
“Yes,” Izador confirmed. “Take Sisera to the ship and tie him up. Anyone who is that competent a fighter, cannot be allowed the freedom to cause trouble.”
“Commander Izador, can I remain free, if I give you my word that I will not cause trouble,” Alerio asked, “or try to escape?”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Izador scoffed. “Take him aboard and tie him up.”
The hard grip of the bodyguards clamped onto Alerio’s arms. Together, they guided him across the beach to the ramp.
“You’ll need your gear,” Abrax offered. He and two of his Hoplites grabbed Alerio’s luggage and tossed the bundles to the deck of the Rhodian warship. The Hoplite NCO braced, saluted, and said. “It was good fighting with you, Tribune Sisera.”
Alerio would have replied, but he was occupied with the coils of rope being twirled around his body.
‘There is one good thing to come out of this,’ he thought as his arms were pinned to his sides. ‘I finally get a vessel going all the way to the city of Rhodes.’
Act 7
Chapter 23 – Challenge a Colossus
The Rhodian warships were far out to sea with only a line of land on the horizon. When the line faded, the trio curved around to the right and lined up on a single pole. But they were so far out, no one should be able to see a simple pole at that distance.
Commander Izador strolled to the mid mast and squatted beside Alerio.
“Can you see the marker from down there?” he asked. After checking, and seeing the prisoner could not, Izador untied Alerio from the mast and stood him up. “The pole is not a post.”
“Is it a mast?” Alerio inquired about a single tall object on the horizon.
“What you are looking at is one hundred and five feet of iron and bronze statue,” Izador described. “Dedicated to the Sun God Helios. He guards the entrance to our harbor.”
“I’m not an expert but I know what one hundred feet is,” Alerio boasted. “And your God looks taller. Unless the statue is on a hill.”
“Very astute of you. The idol is mounted on a fifty-foot pedestal,” the Commander of three warships added. “The statue shows the piety and intelligence of our city. And it is proof of our wealth and technology.”
“If I’m supposed to be impressed,” Alerio admitted. “Consider me mesmerized.”
“Untie the Tribune. If he dives in, he will be eaten or drowned. In either case, he will not escape,” Izador told a sailor. Once the ropes were gone, he instructed. “Walk with me to the fore deck, Sisera.”
They strolled the sixty-five feet to the deck and Alerio looked back trying to see where one hundred and five feet would fall on the vessel. Then he tried to imagine the trihemiolia warship standing on an end, towering overhead.
“To you, oh Sun God, the people of Rhodes set up the bronze statue. Reaching to Olympus, when we had pacified the waves of war and crowned our city with the spoils taken from our enemy,” Izador prayed in a loud voice while looking at the growing statue. “Not only over the seas but also on land did we kindle the lovely torch of freedom and independence. For to the descendants of Rhodian belongs dominion over the sea and the land.”
Although Alerio mostly heard the commander, every oarsmen and sailor on the ship repeated the prayer to Helios. After reciting the invocation, Izador stepped down from the fore deck.
“The statue is more than an honor to the God Helios and a statement about the tenacity of the Rhodian people,” the commander told Alerio. “If you live after your trial, I will tell you how the statue is a lesson in analytical thinking.”
“I look forward to hearing the story,” Alerio responded.
“Do you have a deity that watches over you?” Izador questioned. “If so, you might want to seek a temple or an image before the trial.”
“There are no statues or likenesses of my Goddess,” Alerio responded. “She is very personal with few followers. Mostly, because her festivals are not festive, nor he
r feasts satisfying.”
“I’d like to hear more about your Goddess,” Izador remarked.
“After the trial,” Alerio promised, “if I am condemned to death.”
“Now that is intriguing,” the Commander acknowledged.
The stature of Helios evolved as the ships neared the harbor of Rhodes. From a post on the skyline, the massive head and shoulders took shape, then the features grew taller and larger. Finally, the marble base itself cast a shadow over the waters of the harbor while the Sun God towered over the entrance.
Passing through the shadow gave Alerio a chill. And craning his neck back to look up at the bronze face of a God left him dizzy. Glancing around, he realized that everyone on the warship with a view of the sky was doing the same.
“Get a good look and get back to business,” Izador warned. “It’ll be a poor showing of respect to Helios if we crash into a pier or another ship.”
The docks at Rome were busy but a lot of those boats were small coastal traders and barges. And the port at Ostia had large transports and military warship but neither compared to the harbor of Rhodes. Huge deep-water grain shippers were docked, sleek sea transports, like the snail trader rested at piers, and on the beaches, countless warships lounged as if sharks resting before a feeding frenzy.
“My bodyguards will escort you to the government center. Or to a temple first if you feel the need to pray,” Izador mentioned. “Good luck to you Tribune Sisera.”
“Aren’t you coming to watch?” Alerio suggested. “You might find it morbidly entertaining.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Izador questioned.
***
The streets of Rhodes radiated out from a central market. And it came as no surprise, the goods on display were as varied at the ships in the harbor. Alerio and the two guards strolled along the booths.
Rome's Tribune (Clay Warrior Stories Book 14) Page 20