Alerio finished the kick, slammed his right foot to the floor and pivoted on it. As he spun, his gladii acted as sickles slicing deeply into two of the thugs.
From either side, the renegades with the nicks dove at him. One received the end of a hilt to the back of his head. He landed unconscious against Alerio’s foot. The other lost three teeth when his face connected with a knee before his arms could wrap around the swordsman’s legs.
Dancing between the four downed men, Alerio skewed and sliced to be sure they were all permanently out of the fight. Then leisurely, he rolled one of the bodies to the top of the ladder. He kicked it. The body fell and landed on the man who was trying to regain his hand hold. The unbalanced rebel and another revolutionary from the ladder screamed as the two toppled with the dead body to the warehouse floor.
By the time Speckled Pheasant’s gang reorganized and commenced climbing again, Alerio had stacked two more bodies at the opening for the ladder.
“Are you going to kick the other bodies down as well?” Ceyx inquired.
Lance Corporal Eolus leaned casually on the wall behind the hog-tied rebel and the unconscious Centurion.
“No. They’ll learn to duck if I do it again,” Alerio turned his head and replied. He snapped his head around and jammed his left gladius into the opening for the ladder. A thug screamed and others cursed as the wounded man fell into those attempting to climb up behind him. “The bodies will act as barricades in case they start shooting arrows,” Alerio informed the NCO. Glancing over his shoulder, the Private winked at the Veles and apologized. “Excuse me.”
He twisted around and slashed downward with his right gladius. The chorus of pain and complaining from below the floor level rose to a new volume.
On the warehouse floor, the renegades were crawling over each other trying to gain a place on the ladder. Behind the mob, Speckled Pheasant’s Lieutenants urged them forward with kicks and threats. A banging noise drew their attention and they stopped shoving and spun their heads around.
One entire wall of the warehouse had tall doors set between columns of clay bricks. At the next bang, all the doors flew open.
Eolus and Sisera could hear two voices raised above the yelling of fighters and the screams of the dying. Both voices were calling out the same thing.
“Watch for our men,” Corporal Thornernus and Sergeant Horus were shouting. “Watch for our men!”
The two-man rescue team agreed it was a grand idea. Still, they were glad they were on the second floor. Below them in the warehouse, the Legion’s heavy infantrymen stabbed with their gladii, slammed with their shields, and stomped with their right feet. As taught in recruit training, the stomp was as much of a weapon as their javelins, gladii, and shields.
Anything under the hobnailed boots got smashed. Ankles, feet, legs, chests and heads, anything on the ground became neutralized pulp. In a fight, a Legionary’s vision was restricted by the helmet and shield. They wouldn’t necessarily recognize a Lance Corporal and a Private guarding a rescued Centurion. So being on the second floor was a stroke of luck. Below, all the revolutionaries in the warehouse were butchered by the partially blind meat grinder of the Legion.
Chapter 56 - Medic up, Medic up
It ended swiftly. Other than the heavy breathing of a warehouse full of Legionaries, the large space was quiet.
Sergeant Horus called out hopefully, “Eolus. Sisera. Decanus Eolus. Private Sisera. Report!” He looked around for a signal before lifting his eyes to the balcony on the second floor.
Ceyx and Alerio were peering over the railing and down at the carnage. When Horus spotted them, they waved casually to the Optio.
“Did you locate Centurion Stylianus?” the Optio called up to the smiling men. “Do you require medical assistance?”
“The Centurion needs looking at,” Ceyx shouted. Before he could explain, the Sergeant began yelling, “Medic up! Medic up!”
The call was repeated by a squad’s Decanus and by Corporal Thornernus, “Medic up. Medic up.”
As if created by the bow of a ship at sea, the Legionaries parted and two medics rushed for the ladder.
“Let’s dismantle your barricade before the Medics trip over the bodies,” suggested Ceyx.
By the time the first Medic’s head appeared in the ladder’s opening, the bodies had been dragged to the side. Though the flooring in front of the opening was covered in slices of skin, bone, and an inch of blood. It resembled the aftermath of an epic battle.
“Hurry,” the medic called down to his compatriot. “It’s a blood bath.”
He expected to find the rescue team cut and bleeding. Instead, he found a shaken and bruised Centurion and two grinning Legionaries. The only wounds were to Alerio’s forearms. Red and raw as if a cheese grater had been employed, they oozed drops of blood.
Optio Horus climbed up next and he swore as his boots sloshed through the gore. Spying the medics surrounding the Centurion, he rushed to check on the Officer.
“We’re fine Sergeant,” Ceyx informed the NCO as he raced to the Centurion’s side. “If anybody is interested?”
Chapter 57 - Cleaning Up and Clearing Out
Four Legionaries cleared the ladder and Lance Corporal Eolus directed them to the roof ladder.
“Not sure what’s left on the roof,” he said. “But no dissent should walk down. Understand?”
They didn’t know the NCO, but, the Optio was occupied speaking to a man being attended to by a medic and ignoring them. They accepted the orders and hurried towards the roof ladder.
The second medic realized he wasn’t needed to attend the Centurion. While looking around for something to do, he noticed Alerio’s deep scrapes. After scolding the Legionary for not reporting the injuries, he opened a kit. A light dusting of sterilizing salt was sprinkled on the wounds and the medic proceeded to bandage Alerio’s forearms.
“I assume that’s Centurion Stylianus,” guessed Alerio using his chin to indicate the direction. “I’ve seen the obese gentleman in the fancy vest before. Isn’t he the dissent leader?”
“That, Private Sisera, is the illustrious rebel Captain, Speckled Pheasant,” Eolus replied. The medic finished, accepted Alerio’s thanks, and turned to repack his medical bag.
“Let’s go pay our respects to Centurion Stylianus,” Ceyx suggested.
As they approached the Centurion, Horus indicated for them to step closer.
“Sir, may I present Lanced Corporal Ceyx Eolus and Private Alerio Sisera,” their Sergeant announced. “They were the entry team that protected you until the Infantry arrived.”
Someone had placed Ceyx’s tattered cloak over the Centurion’s shoulder. His eyes were dull but alert.
“Lanced Corporal Eolus. I know you,” Stylianus whispered through a sore throat. “But I don’t recognize the Private. Is he one of ours, Sergeant?”
“He just joined the Raiders, sir. Fresh out of Recruit Training,” the Optio replied.
“Just out of training and you picked him for the Raiders,” Stylianus said hoarsely. “And you picked him for a rescue mission. He must have impressed you.”
“I didn’t choose him for the mission. That was Decanus Eolus’ decision,” Horus reported. “But you are correct sir, he is an impressive young Legionary.”
The sound of screams reached them through the roof opening. Shortly after, the four Infantrymen climbed down the ladder.
“The roof is secure,” one reported to Horus.
“Good. Pass your shields down to the men below,” the Optio ordered. “You’ll help the Centurion down the ladder. Then, come back for this fat cūlus. I need the rebel Captain alive for questioning, but don’t be too gentle.”
***
A cart hauled Centurion Stylianus and Speckled Pheasant back to the Legion Transfer Post. While Stylianus was taken to the Officer’s tent and helped into a clean, soft bed, Speckled Pheasant was taken to a small, smelly wooden box and helped in by the bottom of a boot.
On the march back to
the Post, Ceyx described the action in the warehouse to Wido and Ireneus. Alerio blushed at the praise from the Veles NCO. Happily, for the young Legionary, no one could see it in the dark hours of early morning. Still, he was pleased.
Horus waited for Ceyx to wash up. Once he was presentable, they went to consult with the Centurion. Alerio, with Wido and Ireneus in tow, strolled to the Armory.
“Private Sisera turning in equipment,” Alerio reported as he laid the dual gladius harness on the counter. “You did a fine job of constructing it. Thank you.”
The leather, just hours before, had been new with a freshly tanned aroma still clinging to the material. Now, it lay creased with flecks of dried blood peeling off and falling on the counter.
“I can’t take that harness,” the Armorer replied as he carefully poked the leather. Using only two fingers, he eased first one of the gladii and then the other out of the sheaths.
“Oh, excuse me. It’s been a long night,” Alerio offered. “Of course, it should have been cleaned before being turned it in.”
“No, you misunderstand me,” the Armorer explained. “I have no one who wants or needs a two gladii rig. I’ve already written it off as research and development. It’s yours.”
The Armorer reached back and pulled a leather pouch from a box. “But you’re right,” he stated handing Alerio the pouch. “The leather should be cleaned. Here’s a bag of goose grease so you can do it right. It’s better than the goat merda you were issued.”
“Hold on,” Lance Corporal Wido insisted. “What good is the harness without gladii?”
“Sorry, the Legion only issues one gladius per Legionary,” the Armorer replied. “He already has one.”
“How would he requisition another?” Wido asked. Then he studied the new gladii the Armorer had extracted from the harness and added, “More specifically, those two?
“He’d need a chit from a Centurion,” answered the Armorer while pointing a thick, gnarly finger at Alerio. “Stating the requirement for equipment is for a Legionary specialist. Specifically, that Legionary.”
“Don’t put them away,” Wido said as he pulled Alerio and Ireneus out of the Armory tent.
“How am I going to get a chit from the Centurion?” Alerio asked once they were outside.
The sun was peaking over the horizon casting soft shadows as the rays chased away the dark of night.
“Let’s get you cleaned up and after breakfast,” Wido explained. “We camp outside the officer’s tent and wait for Sergeant Horus. He’ll know. Meanwhile, Private, you need to clean your gear.”
***
Optio Horus had spread the four Nocte Apibus out on a table beside the Centurion’s bed.
“The assassins from the Golden Valley want their hog stickers back,” he explained. “Apparently they were hired by Speckled Pheasant for the attack on the Transfer Post. Their part was the killing while the agitators lit the fires. Seeing as Speckled Pheasant hired them, the Sweet Fist hold him responsible for returning the Nocte Apibus. If the Dulce Pugno had to come and retrieve the knives themselves, they were going to kill whoever possessed the knives, as well as, Speckled Pheasant. Grabbing you was supposed to help him trade for the knives.”
“Alright. We have two issues. One is what to do with the renegade? Slit his throat, or kill him slowly by crucifixion as an example,” Centurion Stylianus pondered. “The other issue is how many Centuries we’ll need to wipe out that nest of vipers in Golden Valley?”
His voice was low, rough and scratchy. His message, on the other hand, was clear. The Legion did not barter with or abide threats from dissents or terrorists.
“Excuse me, sir,” Ceyx asked, “If I may?”
“Go ahead Decanus. I believe you’ve earned the right to voice your opinion,” the Centurion assured him.
“The Dulce Pugno have defended the Golden Valley against their enemies for centuries. In all that time, only once have they punished an enemy beyond their mountains. It was a King and his family,” Ceyx explained. “One story told by my people is about a greedy merchant group. The merchants grew weary of the restrictive distribution practices and the high price of the honey from the Golden Valley.”
“They hired a Warlord to attack the mountain valley and claim it for the merchants,” continued Ceyx. “The Warlord force marched his troops into the mountains. A half a day’s march from the valley, the army set up camp. Three scouts were sent forward to run reconnaissance on the valley’s defenses. As the sun set beyond the high peaks, extra sentries were posted. As darkness descended, the warriors settled in for the night.”
“In the morning, the common soldiers awoke late. Confused by the lack of morning harassment and marching orders, they began searching for their Lieutenants and the Warlord,” explained Ceyx. “The search ended in the command tent. There, they discovered the Warlord and his command staff laying in pools of honey and blood with their throats slit.”
“As they milled around leaderless, the three scouts staggered down the rutted track from the direction of the Golden Valley. Each scout had a heavy yoke strapped across his shoulders. Hanging from the ends of the yokes were large buckets of honey,” recounted Ceyx. “The men feasted on the delicious honey, broke camp, and marched from the mountain.”
Sergeant Horus blustered and challenged, “You think a bunch of amateur assassins could sneak into a Legion camp and kill our command staff? I don’t think so.”
“Hold on Optio, while I agree with you, I have a few questions,” Centurion Stylianus stated. “Did the Dulce Pugno murder the merchants?”
“No, sir. The merchants lived. Although for years they traveled with bodyguards,” commented Ceyx. “After assassinating the Warlord and his staff, the Dulce Pugno extracted no additional retribution. It was as if the planned attack never happened.”
“Curious. You mentioned something about the restricted distribution of the honey,” Stylianus commented before asking. “Explain that?”
“Honey from the Golden Valley is handled by small trading houses,” Ceyx further explained. “The honey is beyond the means of all but the wealthy. As such, the trading houses specialize in rare delicacies such as wines and teas, silks, exotic grains, and of course, the honey. Produce from the Golden Valley is transported to specialty houses located around the region. Always under guard and always under the protection of the Dulce Pugno.”
“That’s the answer,” Centurion Stylianus announced. “The assassins have a reputation for non-intervention. Other than the paid killings, they don’t leave their valley. I can’t imagine we’d ever encounter them if a squad of our Legionaries hadn’t killed four of their assassins and taken the Nocte Apibus.”
He pointed to the table where the four knives were displayed.
“Excuse me, sir. It wasn’t a squad,” explained Optio Horus. “It was Private Sisera, before he started recruit training.”
“Well, I guess he is a special young man,” the Centurion said as he slowly closed his eyes. Horus and Ceyx, assuming their officer needed to rest, began backing out of the tent. Stylianus’ eyes popped open and he said sleepily. “Before we go stomping all over what might be the Consuls’ and the Senate’s favorite honey farm, let’s get more facts. Find the trading house. Question the merchant.”
He snuggled his tortured body deeper under the blanket, rolled onto his side, and began snoring. Horus and Ceyx stepped softly out of the tent. They were met by a squad of heavy infantrymen in full kit. Three more Legionaries sat off to the side.
“Corporal Thornernus assigned us to guard the officer,” reported the squad’s Lance Corporal. “He said if anything happens to the Centurion, we’d have the worst merda duties he could invent until the day we died. That’s if he didn’t kill us first. The Centurion will be safe. I can assure you.”
“Sound reasoning,” Horus remarked to the squad leader before turning to the three sitting Legionaries. “Wido. We’re going to speak with a merchant. Stay here and keep an eye on things.”
; “Sure Sergeant. But Private Sisera needs a favor,” The Raider Decanus explained. “The Armorer wants a specialist chit to issue gladii for the dual rig.”
The harness was splayed over Alerio’s knee and he was vigorously rubbing the leather with geese oil. He looked up and nodded in agreement
“We’ll take care of that later,” Horus promised.
He and Ceyx strolled away. At the end of the tent, they turned towards the main gate.
Chapter 58 - Intelligence, the Rarest of Commodities
The trading house for rare goods was indeed a house. Sitting in the center of the warehouse district, it was out of sync with the surrounding buildings.
Horus and Ceyx passed the warehouse from last night’s action. Circled three more long, low warehouses until they arrived. The out of place villa was surrounded by a high stone wall with a wide gate. To secure the gate, thick, iron reinforced doors hung open. Although open, the feeling as they walked through the gate was grave.
Maybe it was the silence in the courtyard compared to the shouting of men filling or unloading carts. Or, maybe it was the whinnies and hee-haws of mules waiting impatiently to haul the goods from the warehouses’ loading bays. In any case, a sense of being stalked raised the hairs on the backs of their necks as they marched to the front door. Horus grabbed the knocker. Before he could rap on the door, it swung open.
“Legionaries. Please, enter,” a young lad greeted them with a bow and an outstretched arm. He was pointing to a large but sparse office set just off a long corridor.
Doors to other rooms faced the hallway and where it ended, they could see short stacks of polished wooden boxes through a doorway. Obviously, the rear of the villa acted as the storage area for the expensive merchandise.
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