From a large sack slung over his shoulder, the barbarian pulled a sheathed gladius. Thomasious braced preparing to fend off an attack if the brute drew the sword. He didn’t. After laying the weapon on the marble counter top the barbarian stepped back.
“My name is Erebus,” explained the barbarian. “I seek the son of the man who saved my life; to him, I return his father’s gladius.”
“Let me fetch us beverages,” Thomasious offered. “And you can tell me how my father saved your life.”
They sat at a table with clay mugs of vino. With Thomasious’ hand resting on his father’s gladius, he listened.
Erebus told of the fighting retreat from the first battle on the northern frontier. Erebus was a scout for the Legion. When the tribes descended on the outnumbered Centuries, the Scout caught a spear in his upper thigh. Being from a tribe to the east, he wasn’t related to the northern tribes. The tribes had fought border wars for eons so Erebus was an enemy long before he volunteered to help the Legion.
As he lay on the forest floor, bleeding and unable to move, a Legionary rushed to his side. He screamed when the spear was pulled out and again when the Legionary hoisted the Scout onto his shoulder armor.
The Legionary line fought and stepped back. At any moment, Erebus expected to be tossed aside. But, the Legionary continued to shout orders, fight, and organize the Centuries, all while carrying the Scout.
The Legionaries fought sword-to-sword, spear against shield all the way down a steep hill. Above them, scattered on the slope, lay dead and dying Legionaries and barbarians. Yet, Erebus remained on the broad shoulders of the Legionary until reinforcements arrived and beat back the barbarians.
Even then, Erebus wasn’t cast aside. He was carried to a Legion hospital tent. When he healed, the Scout went looking for his savior. He located the Legionary in the midst of another battle. Before Erebus could reach Thomasious’ father, a barbarian’s sword crushed Harricus’ helmet and dropped him to the ground.
This time it was the Scout carrying the wounded Legionary as the Legion fought and stepped back. At the hospital tent, Harricus woke up just long enough to make a request.
“Take my gladius to my son,” the Legionary whispered before his life force left him.
It had taken Erebus a year to get his separation papers from the Legion and two more years to walk to the Capital City to complete the task.
“Where will you go now?” Thomasious asked.
“I have no plans,” admitted Erebus.
“Stay and work at the inn,” offered Thomasious.
“If you are half the man Harricus was,” replied Erebus. “It will be an honor.”
Chapter 21 - Sage Advice from the Clay Ear
Thomasious Harricus balanced running the inn with the political and gossip writings of his alto ego, the Clay Ear, by sticking to a schedule. Late into the evenings, he was the friendly proprietor and questioning host. Early afternoons, he was the Clay Ear with the poison and biting pen. During the day, he was the booking agent and supply manager for the inn. As part of the schedule, every morning he woke early, poured a mug of wine, added water, and went to the empty great room. There, he’d sit and watch the city awaken while he collected himself for another day.
With a mug of watered vino in hand, Thomasious walked through the sleeping inn. He pushed opened the double doors expecting to find an empty great room. It wasn’t empty.
At a corner table without a view, young Lance Corporal Sisera sat with his head cradled in his hands.
“Rough night?” Thomasious inquired as he pulled out a chair.
“Master Harricus. What do you know about Senator Ventus?” replied Alerio without lifting his head.
“The other night he was arguing with now deceased Senator Faunus,” Thomasious stated. “If you’re looking for more, I’ll need a point of reference.”
“Why would a Senator of the Republic also be head of the Fireguard Brigade?” questioned Alerio. Also in a measured tone as if he really don’t want to say it, he explained. “Vivianus is Senator Ventus and he runs the Brigade. Is that a good starting point?”
“You claim the honorable Senator Ventus is the crime boss Vivianus?” Thomasious challenged. “And how would you know this?”
“I followed him and his bodyguard, Gabrielus, from the Wine Trough,” Alerio reported. “Followed them from the Fireguard District to his villa. No doubt, Ventus and Vivianus are the same man.”
Thomasious was silent for so long Alerio looked up to see if the innkeeper had fallen asleep.
Last night, when Alerio returned to the inn from tracking Senator Ventus, or Vivianus, he stowed away his armor and stretched out on the bed. After tossing and turning, he got up and got dressed. No one was around so he took this seat and tried to figure out what to do with the information.
“I almost didn’t believe you,” admitted Thomasious. “But, you knew the northern bodyguard’s name. Gabrielus is at the Senator’s side to and from the Senate and at all social functions. Something odd does occur to me.”
“Something, I hope, like how to get Zacchaeus and me out of this war with the Fireguard Brigade,” ventured Alerio.
“Zacchaeus’ a crusty old merchant,” Thomasious remarked. “He’ll survive. It’s you who needs advice. As the reclusive Clay Ear, I would advise you to run. But that’s not what I was thinking about.”
Alerio waited as Thomasious sat as still as a clay brick. Finally, the innkeeper nodded his head as if he’d reached some sort of decision.
“I once considered joining the Legion,” confessed Thomasious. “But, after seeing what the Legionaries endured, I realized it wasn’t for me. Instead, I built this inn to give junior officers and senior NCOs a quality place to stay. For my duty to the Republic, I use the Clay Ear to keep citizens informed about what goes on in the Senate.”
“That’s all very interesting Master Harricus,” Alerio commented. “but what does it have to do with this situation?”
“My father was killed when the northern tribes pushed back the Legion,” Thomasious said with his voice cracking from emotion. Alerio started to express his condolences, but Thomasious held up a hand to keep the young man quiet. “When the Republic lost the lumber and iron ore from the north, one family suffered the biggest financial losses. By the time the war began, the family had put their eldest son in the Senate. When the Legion established a defensive line in the flatlands beyond the barbarian’s mountains, the family petitioned the Consuls for more men and money for the northern Legion. They wanted the mines and forests back but the Senate and the Consuls resisted the political and economic pressure.”
“I’m guessing it was Senator Ventus’ family,” ventured Alerio. “Consequently, he turned to crime to keep his coffers full of coin. It’s one explanation.”
“By the time the barbarians pushed the Legion back, the Ventus’ had invested in shipping and trading,” Thomasious stated. “Financially, they were secure. Of course, they missed the prestige of having massive amounts of coin rolling in yearly. But, according to my sources, Senator Ventus is very wealthy.”
“Could he be raising money for a Legion?” asked Alerio. “A Legion to take back the northern region.”
“This is the odd thing I was referring to,” explained Thomasious. “Two years ago, the Consuls asked the Senate to debate the issue of retaking the north. It split the Senate down the middle and lines were drawn. Senator Faunus, who was killed, was pro invasion. Senator Ventus, whose family gained wealth and power from the region, led the opposition. The final vote from the Senate to the Consuls’ question was no to restarting the northern campaign.”
“Wouldn’t Senator Ventus’ family still have ownership of the mines and the land?” Alerio surmised. “If the Republic reclaimed the region?”
“His parents are dead so the grants would all transfer to him. And that’s the puzzling aspect of this,” Thomasious said. “Ventus seems ambitious. His speeches are well attended. He’s popular with the citizens.
With the extra coin from the north, he could bribe his way to being President of the Senate. As it is, he seems comfortable chairing a few committees. As a matter of fact, Senator Ventus is a sponsor of this week’s games and festival.”
“What games?” asked Alerio. “What festival?”
“The Consuls have ordered a celebration of Janus,” Thomasious explained. “In three days, the area outside the east gate will be transformed from pasture land to festival grounds. You know with the usual competitions, plays, and acts. Every citizen will be there. I understand the commanders of the Central Legion have been invited to be Marshals of the games.”
“A festival honoring the god of change and new beginnings,” Alerio inquired. “Is it an annual event?”
“No. This is the first time the Consuls have recognized the deity with a festival,” replied Thomasious. “There are openings in the sword fighting tournament. As a gladius instructor, would you consider entering?”
“No, Master Harricus,” Alerio replied as he pulled up his right sleeve to display the double line of scars. “These are from Daedalus of the City Guard. I can’t be publicly announced or the next time, someone will put the scars on my heart.”
“Funny you should mention Daedalus,” Thomasious stated. “Senator Ventus’ bodyguard Gabrielus and the Corporal trained together when the northerner came to the city. Rumor has it, Gabrielus’ father is a King of the Insubri. As a teenager, he was sent to the City as a hostage to be sure his father respected the newly formed northern border.”
“A northern royal hostage is a bodyguard for a Senator of the Republic?” gasped an astonished Alerio. “You know Master Harricus, I may be just a simple farm boy. But, even I know the difference between a sheared sheep and a scrawny goat.”
“What is the difference?” asked Thomasious.
“In a few months, one will grow back thick, rich wool,” stated Alerio. “while the other, in a few months, will still be a skinny goat.”
“I don’t understand,” complained the innkeeper.
“Breeding Master Harricus, it comes down to breeding,” explained Alerio. “No matter how an animal looks, it doesn’t change the creature’s nature.”
“I’ll see what I can find out about Senator Ventus’ activities,” promised Thomasious. “And get some information on his opposition in the Senate. Plus an idea of what specific issues they disagree on.”
Act 4
Chapter 22 - Heat, Time, and Muscle
Alerio strolled away from the Chronicles Humanum Inn, two blocks up the road, he rounded the channeling defensive wall and followed it towards the eastern gate. He’d changed into his new clothing after eating breakfast, and set out for a day of exploring. The City Guardsman, noticing the finely tailored tunic and not sure of the young man’s social status, saluted as he passed.
The road outside the gate ran Republic straight. In the distance, he could see the tents and buildings of a Legion Transfer Post. Closer to the city, workmen dug post holes and hammered in pegs as they built the rough planked stands for the games and festival. Although he gawked at the construction, the festival honoring Janus wasn’t his destination.
A quarter of a mile outside the city, Alerio turned right and walked to the top of a rise. From the knoll, he could see the wide Tiber river as it meandered to the sea. Sailing ships and rowed vessels moved towards the city’s docks with raw materials or sailed away from the docks carrying goods to cities throughout the Republic.
A stream running towards the big river showed marks left by picks and shovels on the plain surrounding it.
What had once been a natural tributary, with steep banks, was now a broad flat of exposed clay. A dam created a small lake and only a trickle was allowed to flow down a narrow serpentine channel. Workers carried buckets of water and slabs of clay from the excavated area.
The heavily loaded workers disappeared from view behind a stockade wall. All around the hill and the land to the east, the wooden wall blocked the view of what lay inside. A hint was the tops of high brick domes appearing above the walls. The domes were the purpose for Alerio leaving the city.
He ambled down the hill and entered the open stockade gate. In front of each dome, workers mixed clay, sand, and straw while liberally sprinkling the elements with water. Once the mixture was pliable, it was pounded into forms. When each of the six squares in a form was full, another worker would scrap off any excess wet clay. The form with the six raw clay bricks was then carried into a dome.
“Heat, over time, bakes the bricks into manmade stones that will last for hundreds of years,” a familiar voice stated from behind him. “Any savage can blend clay, sand, and straw. Turning the soft mix into solid building material is a talent.”
“Good morning, Master Kellerian,” Alerio said while turning around to greet the broad-shouldered armorer. “What brings you out this morning? Certainly not clay bricks?”
“Not bricks, Lance Corporal Sisera,” Tomas stated while laying a hand on Alerio’s shoulder. He guided the young man around the domes.
“Steel brings me here this morning. Like clay bricks, anybody can gather the raw materials. And like bricks, it takes heat and time to make steel,” the armorer explained. “But, there is another element beyond skill. You need muscle to make steel.”
On the other side of the huge brick drying domes, Alerio and Tomas found an open field dotted with relatively tiny domes. These mounds, much smaller than the kilns for bricks, were constructed of bricks with clay packed between and over the bricks. A round clay tube ran from the base of the chest high domes to goatskin sacks stretched between stick frames. The sticks were mashed together forcing air from the goatskin sack into the clay tube. With each movement, flames rose from the tops of the small domes.
“Iron ore is dropped into each dome,” Tomas described. “Charcoal is added and encouraged to burn hot by the bellows. The ore is heated until the iron forms a blossom in the bottom of the dome.”
“And the blossom is steel?” guessed Alerio.
“No. What comes out is a mess of impurities surrounding a core of pure iron,” explained Tomas. “Come on, I’ll show you steel.”
Beyond the small domes, flat metal slabs were stationed around the floor of an opened air hut. Men with iron hammers took turns pounding on ugly misshapen hunks of black material. As they hammered, pieces flew off until a solid, but much smaller, piece of iron remained.
“That’s iron,” advised Tomas. “It’s relatively soft and you wouldn’t want to fight with a gladius made of wrought iron. It would snap or bend on the first strike.”
“I’m guessing there’s more to the process?” ventured Alerio.
The armorer nodded and led them through the hut. They circled around a brick wall and walked into the heat of a thousand suns.
Alerio almost stumbled from the intensity of the hot air. Two brick squares, resembling wells, were the sources of the heat. Each square had a low dome supported by four columns. Three clay tubes ran out a long distance to giant bellows. The distance from the furnace gave the two men on each of the bellows some relief from the heat.
“Charcoal,” shouted a large man. In response, two men rushed in and shoveled broken chunks of charcoal into a well. “Air,” the man yelled and the bellows began pumping.
Flames rose until the area between the bed of the wells and the low roofs resembled the center of Hades itself. The bellows pumped, the air flowed, and the fire changed colors reflecting zones of heat.
The large furnace foreman walked around the wells watching and judging the quality of the flames. He seemed satisfied and stepped back.
“Turn,” ordered the furnace foreman. Two men grabbed long iron poles. They put the tips into the flames and, with surprisingly gentle pushes, they rolled clay eggs a quarter of a turn.
The eggs were as big around as a man’s chest and as long as an arm. Once the eggs had been turned, the foremen shouted. “Charcoal.”
While the men raced forward to brave the heat
and feed the fire, Tomas guided Alerio around another brick wall. After the waves of heat, the midmorning air seemed cool and a shiver ran through Alerio.
They entered another open-air hut. Broken clay eggs littered the floor, their exteriors blackened from the intense heat of the wells. A thin layer of metal coated the cavities in the center of the broken eggs.
Open topped furnaces sat on each side of the hut. Workers pumped air into the charcoal, and while hot in the center of the wells, they didn’t emit the intense heat of the wells where the eggs were baked.
Two stations in front of each well had balls of metal on slabs of hardened iron. Two men took turns striking the balls of metal until the balls began to flatten and stretch. Every so often, a worker would pick up the metal with tongs and hold it in the center of a furnace. When they pulled it out, the metal glowed red hot. It was again laid on the hardened iron slab and the pounding continued.
“That’s steel,” announced Tomas pointing to the metal so hard it took two men to pound it into a shape.
“What else was placed in the egg with the iron?” asked Alerio. “It had to be an exotic ore. Or something rare for the alchemy to work. What changes soft iron into steel hard enough to make a quality gladius?”
“Come with me and all shall be revealed,” Tomas whispered as if the additive to create steel was a closely guarded secret.
They left the noise and rhythm of men beating metal and walked around another divider wall. Alerio’s nose was assaulted long before he saw what a team of men was doing. One squatted pounding dried animal bones into powder. Another took scoops of the ground bone and sprinkled in finely mashed charcoal. A final man took a ladle of urine and sprinkled it over the powders. He mixed the items together. Then he smeared the paste around a misshapen piece of iron.
“Ground bone and charcoal?” asked Alerio in disgust. “That’s the secret to turning iron into steel?”
“And cow’s urine. One mustn’t forget the urine,” Tomas stated with a self-satisfied smile on his face. “In the intense heat of the clay egg, the iron absorbs the mash. Somehow, it makes steel.”
Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1 Page 29