“Eight by the time they recalled the war party,” Alerio related.
One of the Privates turned around, and with his opened mouthed, stared at Alerio.
“If a horde of barbarians came charging at you from behind those buildings,” Eligius warned the preoccupied infantryman. “The man on your right and left would die because you weren’t ready to set the line.”
“I’m sorry Decanus,” the Legionary offered.
“Don’t apologize to me,” Eligius scolded. “Apologize to the man on your right and left because that’s who died because your shield wasn’t there. Do it!”
The Private turned to his right and mumbled a few words. Next, he faced the man on his left and apologized. Afterwards, he stood stiffly in line looking straight ahead.
“Squad, stand by,” Eligius ordered.
“Ready,” replied the squad as they stomped their right feet into the dry dirt of the village.
“This is a house to house search,” Eligius commanded. “Pair off by twos, and keep an eye on your partner. Call out if you see anything dangerous, interesting, funny, or perverted. Especially perverted so we can all enjoy it. Draw. Forward march.”
As the eight Legionaries split apart and began going through the houses, a noise behind Alerio drew his attention. Coming up the trail was Optio Cletus and the Centurion.
“Alerio, a word,” requested the Sergeant. “The farmers said you had a conversation with the pirate Captain. Is this where you talked to him?”
“No Optio. He was standing at the edge of that hill,” Alerio said while indicating the top of a steep slope off to the side of the village.
“And, where were you?” asked the Centurion.
“I was over there, sir,” replied Alerio holding out a finger and aiming it at a brick and mud dome. “Where the bodies are.”
Even at the distance from the trail to the grain storage building, they could clearly see six corpses. Five of the dead were sprawled on the ground between two closely space torches. It wasn’t the dead pirates that caused the Centurion to wince. It was the raw wounds on four of their necks, one with dried blood on his ear, and another with a chest and foot wound.
“You left two throats intact,” observed the Optio.
“I already had the pirate leader’s name by then,” Alerio replied. “and my hand was so wet, it was easier to stab.”
The Centurion cocked his head and studied the fresh-faced Lance Corporal. There was something not-quite-right between the look and manners of the young Decanus and his actions. Despite the incongruity, the Centurion asked, “What is the Illyrian Captain’s name?”
“Navarch Martinus Cetea,” answered Alerio. “Tall man, well built with short brown hair.”
“Navarch? You said Navarch?” stammered the Centurion.
“Yes, sir. Navarch Martinus Cetea, that’s what he said,” Alerio confirmed.
The Centurion turned his head and looked into the distance. From the hill, the waters of the Straits of Messina reflected the morning light and further in the distance, rose a hazy view of the mountains on the island.
“Sisera. Navarch isn’t a name. It’s a title,” explained Centurion Narcissus. “In Greek, Navarch means leader of many ships. Who you spoke with wasn’t simply a pirate Captain. He was an Illyrian Admiral.”
“Sir, if Martinus Cetea is an Admiral, where are his other ships?” inquired the Sergeant.
“That, Optio Cletus, is the question of the day. Where were his other ships?” repeated the Centurion. “For the ships, I haven’t a clue. Or why he left?”
“Left, sir?” asked Sergeant Cletus. “They took the merchant ship and, according to the farmers, a chest of coins. Seems like a pretty good day’s work.”
“Navarch Cetea chanced attacking a garrisoned inlet to capture a rich foreign merchant. Why?” inquired the Centurion. “How much coin is it worth for war between the Republic and the Illyrian Kingdom. We’re missing something.”
A shout rose from the village followed by a call from Lance Corporal Eligius.
“Centurion. Optio. You’ll want to see this,” the squad leader yelled.
Alerio trailed behind as the officer and the NCO marched toward the largest hut in the village. On the way, they passed a water well. Standing beside the well was the Legionary, who had been distracted and out of line. He stood with a rope tied around his waist.
“It’s easy. We drop you in the well and you feel around for anything foul,” another Private explained. He held the other end of the rope. “After you check, we pull you up.”
The well was a dark hole in the center of the village with a single course of stone ringing it. Adding to the man’s terror, the well only opened the width of the Private’s shoulders.
“Who would poison a well?” asked the Private. “Can’t we just pull up a bucket, look at the water and sample it? That should tell us if it’s clean.”
“Carcasses rot over time,” another Legionary explained. “Right now, it may be drinkable. In a week, you’ll pull up a bucket of fur and maggots. In you go.”
Two Legionaries held him upside down. Five others fed rope out hand-over-hand until the Private’s hobnailed boots disappeared below street level.
Alerio cringed at the infantryman’s claustrophobic duty and rushed to catch up with the officer and the NCO.
Chapter 14 - It’s Greek to Me
“Having the grandest house in a rural farming community was like having two deaf and blind oxen,” thought Alerio. “It sounded good until you saw the results.”
Lance Corporal Eligius stood on the porch of the shabby structure with a wide grin on his face.
“This better not be another display of debauchery like the last time,” warned Sergeant Cletus as he approached.
“You’ve got to admit those portraits were extraordinary,” Eligius replied. “Nothing salacious in here, Optio, unless you’re a scholar.”
Ducking through the goatskin door covering, Alerio followed the officer and the NCOs. Scattered around the dirt floor and over the rickety table and chairs were unrolled scrolls and pieces of parchment.
“What’s this?” demanded Cletus. “It’s parchment. So, what?”
Eligius strutted to a scattered stack and snatched up a piece of a scroll. While walking back, he held it out so the Sergeant and the Centurion could see the writing.
Alerio looked but couldn’t make out the language. Thanks to his mother, he wrote Latin. Plus, he spoke a spattering of other languages. Mostly learned from friends of his father as he grew up. But this script made no sense to him.
“I don’t know what it says,” admitted Eligius. “But I know symbols. On the bottom is the imprint of Ra, the Egyptian Sun God. However, the writing is Greek. I think.”
“Egyptian officials writing to the Greeks. A merchant ship with a large coin chest,” the Centurion summarized. “Being chased into a Republic port by an Illyrian Kingdom ship. All right, Sergeant, I want every scrap of parchment stacked and carefully bundled up, water tight, for transport back to Fort Rhegium. Let’s see if Planning and Strategies can make sense of this.”
A short time later, the goatskin door had been repurposed as water tight wrapping for the sheets. During packing, the Centurion noticed the parchment in the corner was pasted to the dirt floor with blood. Even though these pages were barely legible, they were packed separately and tossed in the big package.
“Sisera. Take charge of the documents,” ordered the infantry officer. He handed over the bundle. “We’ll assign two squads to row you to Rhegium. Report to Planning and Strategies, give them the package, and tell them what you know.”
“Yes, sir. What happened here?” asked Sisera.
“It seems Navarch Martinus Cetea isn’t a reader. Or he got preoccupied and just forgot those,” the officer replied while poking the bundle with a finger. “In any case, he’s left us clues and we’re going to figure it out. Now get to the beach.”
“Yes, sir,” Alerio said as he stepped through
the door frame.
Outside, Alerio noticed the Legionary who’d been lowered into the well was back on solid ground. Bent over and dripping wet, the man vomited volumes of liquid.
“I take it the well-dive didn’t go well,” ventured Alerio to Lance Corporal Eligius.
“It served a purpose,” Eligius replied. “Poor lad got dunked by his squad mates. They thought it was hilarious when he began to scream. It wasn’t until he was up that they found out when they dunked him, he came face-to-face with a dead man.”
“Are you going to get him out?” asked Alerio.
“We’re pulling the corpse up now,” Eligius answered.
Sixth Squad had lashed a three-pole structure together over the hole so they could bring the body out fully before swinging it to the ground. A pair of sandals appeared and when a pair of brightly striped pants came into view, Alerio raced back to the hut.
“Sir. The man from the merchant ship carrying the parchment and scrolls was just pulled from the well,” he explained. “The farmers described him as having strange pants.”
“It seems Cetea wasn’t just a non-reader; he didn’t like scribes either,” the officer stated. “Sergeant. I need the body on the boat with Sisera and the bundle.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll pull the squads from the grain storage area and the defensive perimeter,” Cletus explained.
“Sisera. Wait for the squads. Once they have the body, go with them to the beach,” the Centurion ordered. “Unless you discover something else.”
“Yes, sir,” Alerio responded. He left the hut for the second time balancing the wrapped scrolls and pieces of parchment in his arms.
Act 4
Chapter 15 – Rhegium Garrison Southern Legion
No one bothered to wake Alerio. He dozed, curled up in the bow of the patrol boat. But the sudden talking between oarsmen alerted him they were nearing their destination.
“Liberty in Rhegium tonight,” a rower said voicing his anticipation of a night on the town.
“I’m with you,” another stated. “If nothing else they have good vino.”
Alerio sat up and glanced over his shoulder. The solid blocks of the Rhegium tower were easily seen in the distance. With a raised view of the opposite shore, it provided the best place to scrutinize the edge of Messina. While the city’s walls blocked a view of the harbor on the far shore, the height allowed Legionaries to monitor ships entering and departing the port.
The port of Rhegium occupied the shoreline north of the tower. On this side of the strait, the city of Rhegium stretched from the flat land at the harbor to where the mountains began to climb. A few of the buildings on the elevated ground actually had a view of Messina. But, they were far enough back the view was obscured.
On this side of the tower, the garrison’s wall ran from the base of the tower to a tree line. Along the walls rested patrol boats; some under construction and others beached for repairs of broken boards, or for re-caulking. Over the wall, the clay shingled roofs of Legion buildings could be seen.
The patrol boat drifted the last two yards and nudged against the beach.
Alerio jumped onto solid ground and walked up the beach to get out of the crew’s way. After they pulled the boat clear of the water, four Legionaries slid the stretcher and the unknown corpse off the boat.
“Where to Lance Corporal?” a stretcher-bearer asked.
“Planning and Strategies,” replied Alerio. “Wherever that is?”
Sergeant Martius limped to the grass at the top of the beach.
“In the command building,” he directed while pointing at the main gate. “Cross the quad. The entrance is around back.”
“Thank you, Optio,” Alerio acknowledged as he began to angle up the shoreline.
“Sisera. You might want to wash off and clean your gear before meeting with the command staff,” suggested Martius.
“I’d also like to have a hot meal and a large mug of vino,” Alerio replied. “But Centurion Narcissus said this bundle, that body, and my report were rush items.”
“Carry on, Decanus Sisera,” Martius ordered as he limped down to inspect the patrol boat.
Chapter 16 - Southern Legion Planning and Strategies
Alerio guided the bearers through the gate, across the parade ground, and along the side of the command building. In the rear, he found a shaded courtyard with a small flower garden. An elderly man in a duty tunic was on his knees turning soil at the base of a flowing vine. Alerio paused and started to ask directions. But, after spotting an entrance, he didn’t. Instead, he made for the doorway.
“Set it down and wait here,” he ordered the Legionaries with the stretcher. As he stepped over the threshold, he announced. “Lance Corporal Sisera. Reporting per orders of Centurion Narcissus.”
From a desk in a corner, an Optio looked over a stack of parchment.
“You are filthy, Decanus,” the staff NCO observed. “Don’t you think you should have cleaned up before reporting to command?”
“I’ve just come from the Occhio Inlet with these,” he replied while holding out the bundle. “Plus, a foreign body and my report. The Centurion said it was urgent.”
“Stand by,” the Optio instructed. He stood and marched through a door behind his desk.
Alerio glanced around the room. There were two other desks piled with parchment shoved against a wall. The positioning was necessary as a large table occupied the center of the room. A sheet of animal skin covered its surface, hiding lumpy objects that rested on the tabletop. Around the room, shelves lined every wall except where a desk and chair rested or the three doorways prevented storage.
The Sergeant returned and behind him marched First Optio Gerontius and a Senior Centurion.
“Sir. Yesterday the garrison at Occhio was attacked by the Illyrian Navy,” Alerio began but stopped when the Centurion held up a hand.
“Velius. Would you like to join us?” the officer shouted in the direction of the backdoor. When there was no reply, the senior officer called out again. “Tribune Velius. Your presence is requested.”
It was almost humorous to have the Senior Centurion, the First Optio, and a staff NCO of the Southern Legion’s command staff standing around waiting. Alerio almost lost it but the narrowed eyes of the other three reminded him of his lowly position. He bit down on his tongue.
The old man from the garden eventually shuffled through the door.
“Tribune Velius,” began the Centurion, but the old man laid a finger over his own lips to silence the senior officer.
“Pardon me Senior Centurion Patroclus,” Tribune Velius said as he shuffled to a desk. Once there, he swept the surface clear. “The body is of an Egyptian. Based on the ink stains on his right hand and left fingers, he was a clerk or an accountant. However, from the band creases around his head, I’d say a royal scribe. The creases would be from the headdress he wore at the court of the King of Egypt.”
“What was a royal scribe doing on a merchant ship in Occhio?” questioned the senior officer.
“Senior Centurion Patroclus, if we knew the answer to that, it wouldn’t be a mystery. Would it?” stated Velius. Turning to Alerio, he asked. “Is that bundle for me, Lance Corporal?”
“Yes, Tribune. It’s parchment and scrolls the royal scribe carried,” reported Alerio.
“Please, place them on the desk,” Velius ordered while indicating the empty desk. Turning to the staff NCO, he asked. “Staff Sergeant Octavian, if you would begin sorting the documents? Now, Lance Corporal if you would relate the details as you know them.”
Alerio was partway through his story when First Sergeant Gerontius interrupted.
“Navarch? An Illyrian Admiral commanded the attack?” he asked while grinding his teeth. “He killed and wounded my Legionaries. For what? A chest of coins. I want to kill him slowly. With my bare hands.”
“First Optio. If you would have the stretcher-bearers carry the Egyptian to medical,” suggested Velius. “Have the medics pack the body in sa
lt. I have a feeling, we’ll be returning him to his King.”
Growling as he made for the door, Alerio realized the First Sergeant was personally upset at the loss of the Legionaries. Like a father who had lost sons, he was grieving, angry, and frustrated at not being able to extract revenge.
“Decanus Sisera, please continue,” Velius urged.
While Alerio went through the sequence of events, the First Sergeant returned and pulled up a chair where he sat quietly fuming. Senior Centurion Patroclus collected a chair and sat off to the side. The only people standing were Tribune Velius and Alerio.
During the report, the sun went down and Staff Sergeant Octavian sorted all the documents into piles. Except for a few questions by Velius, Alerio told them the entire story uninterrupted.
“Very well, Lance Corporal Sisera. I’d like you back here at first light,” Velius instructed at the end. Then turning to Gerontius asked. “If that’s all right with you, First Sergeant?”
“Sisera. Report to me at the front desk in the morning,” instructed Gerontius. “Clean your gear but leave it in your quarters. Report in a duty uniform. Dismissed.”
Alerio saluted by slamming his right fist into his chest. Flakes of dried blood broke loose and fell. In shock, he looked down at the chips floating to the floor.
Tribune Velius studied the flakes as they created an irregular pattern on the tiles. A slight smile crossed his face before he looked up and locked eyes with the young Legionary.
“Don’t worry about it, Lance Corporal,” the Tribune said. “Go and clean up. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Alerio marched to the rear door and stepped out into the night.
Chapter 17 – Beware the Dark Arts
Unable to sleep, Alerio strapped on his hobnailed boots and slid a loose tunic over his head. As he stepped from the transit barracks, he took in a deep breath. Although sunrise was still half the night away, he felt restless and needed a run. At the rear gate of the garrison, he nodded at the duty Legionary and headed for town.
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