Fatal Obligation
Fatal Obligation
Clay Warrior Stories
Book #7
J. Clifton Slater
This is a work of fiction. Although I have used ancient names and, in some cases, historical figures, the majority of characters in this book are fictional. Large events are researched as is the technology, laws, and geology of the mid Republic era. Fight scenes, dialogue, and motivations are purely my invention. All rights are exclusive to J. Clifton Slater.
I want to thank my editor Hollis Jones. She has worked with me on all of my books, attempting to make me a better writer. In doing so, she has become a better editor.
Fatal Obligation
Act 1
Xenokrates of Sicyon published his history of art declaring the Greek city-state of Sicyon as the art capital of the world. No doubt, Eupompus' Sicyonic school of painting and Lysippus School of Sicyonian sculpture played an important role in his argument.
Art, like politics, was the domain of powerful citizens. After accumulating land, villas, and other possessions, they sought to outdo each other with influence in the Senate or by the accumulation of rare objects. Both art and politics demanded skill, cunning, and competition. Both required reaching across the Republic with agents and sometimes beyond the border.
Rare is the common man who can survive the political struggles between dominate factions. And rarer still, is the man who can endure the quest for art.
Welcome to January 263 B.C.
Chapter 1 – Deployment Storage
A drizzle fell on the horse and pack mule. Hooves on the wet pavers splashed and sent the sounds echoing off the façades lining the street. After a night of pouring rain, the craftsmen and slaves in the compounds pulled their blankets up against the predawn chill and ignored the clip clop of the animals’ passage. If any had bothered to look, they would have seen an exhausted rider slumped over and swaying with the rhythm of a slow-moving horse. The rider, horse, and mule moved on. It left the dark street in silence except for the splatter of rain on the pavers.
Porch lamps on the Chronicles Humanum Inn appeared and, the rider reined his mount around to the side of the building. The horse stopped at a gate and the rider sat staring numbly at the barrier. Stiff from the damp and befuddled from the long ride, Alerio Sisera sat and peered at the gate. Fearing if he got down, he wouldn’t have the strength to climb back up or even walk a few paces, he remained still.
“Most guests have the decency to check in during the day,” grumbled a deep voice with a northern accent.
“Most guests haven’t been on the road for four days in an epic storm,” Alerio replied.
“A smart man would have set up a tent and waited it out,” the barbarian suggested as he opened the gate. “Welcome back, Corporal Sisera.”
“Erebus, no one has ever accused me of being exceptionally bright,” Alerio commented as the stableman reached up and grabbed the halter. “Right now, I’m bone weary and in need of a bath.”
“I’ll stoke the fires,” Erebus promised. Yanking the horse into motion, he added. “The water will only be warm.”
“Warm is an improvement and that alone makes it worth riding through the night,” Alerio said. “Is he up?”
“Often, I think the sun calls from over the mountain demanding the Innkeeper waken and greet the day long before sunrise,” offered Erebus. “He’s in the dining room.”
“Speaking of up. How did you come to greet me at the gate in the dark?”
“A mare sensed your stallion, a goat sensed the mare, a dog sensed the goat, and the dog nudged me awake,” Erebus explained. “I was enjoying the music of Jupiter drumming on the roof and fell asleep in the stable.”
Guiding the horse and mule, Erebus walked them across the courtyard. At a doorway, he stopped long enough for the Corporal to slide off his horse.
“I’ll unpack the animals and put your things in a room,” Erebus informed Alerio. Then, he patted the horse’s face. “We’ll get you rubbed down, gallant steed. And you and your long-eared friend a share of grain.”
“Thank you, Erebus,” Alerio called to the barbarian. “It’s good to be back.”
“Dry at least,” the barbarian answered as he led the animals to the barn.
Alerio stepped through the doorway and entered a long hallway.
***
“We are full,” Thomasious Harricus announced without looking away from the window. Outside the night was black with sheets of rain and, even though the innkeeper couldn’t see anything except the lamps on his porch, he continued to gaze into the dark. “Find another inn.”
“I would but I’ve grown accustomed to the bad food, the lack of hospitality, and the sour wine,” Alerio stated as he crossed the floor. “It’ll take more than you and your big barbarian to toss me back into the storm.”
“Corporal Sisera! You’ve tracked water on my floor, insulted my business, and disturbed my morning meditation,” Thomasious complained as he stood and reached out an arm. “You might as well sit down and eat my breakfast.”
“Food sounds good,” Alerio replied as he gripped wrists with the innkeeper. “It’s been a long night.”
“I didn’t expect to see you until spring.”
“After the harvest and sitting with my family, I got bored,” Alerio admitted. He picked up an empty mug, poured in wine, and took a sip. “Figured I’d get a jump on finding a Century by training a garrison in one of the regional Legions.”
“Do you expect any Centurion to deny a position to Death Caller?”
“Oh, not that. I thought I left the nickname in Sicilia,” Alerio said.
“You washed wounded Legionaries, comforted them, and sang to the Goddess for their release in front of two Legions. Toss in a veteran Corporal leaving a large donation at the temple of Nenia and you create a legend,” Harricus exclaimed. “People tend to notice those things. Did I say notice? No, no. Citizens love the story. The Clay Ear has done three gossip scrolls on Death Caller alone.”
“I suppose you used my name,” questioned Alerio.
“Not much good being famous if people don’t know who you are,” Harricus replied.
Alerio placed a palm on his forehead while reaching out with the other hand to take a wedge of cheese and a piece of bread. He ate the food as he moaned.
“I guess the harm is done,” Alerio asserted. “I never wanted to be famous.”
“Fame is fleeting, Sisera,” Harricus assured him. “As soon as the next campaign starts against the Qart Hadasht Empire, the population will forget all about you.”
“Are you sure the Senate will field another Legion for Sicilia?”
“Between the tribute from captured towns, the extra grain, and the coins from the sale of slaves, the Senators can’t refuse,” Harricus said. “I expect the new Consuls to gather Legions and march on Sicilia as soon as they’re elected.”
“Then I’ll head for Messina and hook up with a detachment there,” Alerio ventured. “I don’t fancy standing in a recruitment line.”
“Get out of the Capital as soon as possible,” warned Harricus. “They’ve torn down another section of the Servian Wall to expand the city. With all the slaves, the Central Legion is drafting Legionaries to guard them.”
“It’s one thing to guard a border and fight off barbarians and chase brigands. At least that keeps the skills sharp,” Alerio stated. “But marching around watching men work, that’s for the lazy and fat.”
“Go get some sleep and we’ll talk later today,” Harricus instructed. “And I promise the Clay Ear will not mention the return of Death Caller to the Capital.”
“But first a bath,” Alerio announced.
Thomasious sniffed in the wet Legionary’s direction and wrinkled his nose.
***
At mid-morning, Alerio hoisted a pack on his shoulder and marched up the street. Although the clouds hung low threatening more rain, the weather held off. At the Historia Fae, the armorer to the Gods opened the door.
“Master Kellerian,” Alerio greeted him.
“Wasted the entire morning, I see,” Tomas Kellerian exclaimed glancing up as if he could see the sun. “Just what I’d expect from a junior NCO.”
“Are we going to hold a conversation on the street or will you let me in?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Tomas mused. “I’m busy making armor for Tribunes and Centurions wanting my goods for the war with Qart Hadasht. I don’t know if I need or want business from a Corporal.”
“Fine, I’ll take my needs elsewhere,” Alerio replied.
He started to turn away.
“Aren’t you going to plead that taking a commission from Death Caller will be good for my business?” inquired Tomas.
“Not that again,” Alerio said in frustration. “Master Kellerian. I did what needed to be done. The name came from other people. I’m not walking around, bragging about the moniker.”
Tomas studied the Legionary for a second.
“In that case Corporal Sisera, do come in and tell me what you need,” offered Tomas.
He held both doors open and Alerio walked into the armorer’s shop.
“I want you to store my civilian gear,” Alerio explained as he pulled the bedroll out and extracted both swords hidden inside. “And if you have the chance, between all of your high paying work, I’d like a dual rig for my swords.”
Tomas picked them up and studied the long handles and the blades. Unlike a wide gladius that was honed on both edges, these were sharpened on one side and pointed.
“I can store your gear and get you a harness,” commented the armorer as he continued to study the blades. “Where are you going? And nice red cloak?”
“The cloak was a gift from my mother and sisters,” Alerio replied. “I’m heading for Sicilia without a unit so I’ll only be taking my Legionary equipment.”
“We’ll take care of your gear. Good luck, Death Caller.”
Alerio mumbled something under his breath and headed for the door.
***
Once outside, Alerio strolled to the harbor. At the Legion Transfer Post, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
“I’m heading to Messina looking for an assignment. Are there any ships heading south?”
“The Central Legion is looking for Legionaries,” the Optio suggested. “No sense traveling when you can serve the Republic right here in the Capital. It’s a good posting.”
“Thanks for the recommendation, Sergeant. But beating slaves or drunk Legionaries isn’t in my nature.”
“Name, rank, and specialty,” the Optio inquired.
“Corporal Alerio Sisera, weapons instructor, combat rower, and Legion raider,” he reported.
The Sergeant held up a finger as he raffled through a basket of scrolls. After checking a few, he held one up.
“You are summonsed to Senator Spurius Carvilius Maximus’ Villa,” the Sergeant explained as he handed the scroll to Alerio. Then he leaned forward and asked. “Are you Death Caller?”
“No. I heard he was down south killing Qart Hadasht mercenaries,” Alerio lied.
“I heard he was up north butchering barbarians,” the Sergeant offered. “He sounds like a scary guy.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Imagine walking around with the Goddess Nenia hovering over your shoulder selecting targets for your blade,” remarked the Legion NCO.
“I don’t think it works like that,” commented Alerio as he backed out of the office. “Not like that at all.”
***
The message didn’t sound urgent so Alerio took an indirect route to cross the city. Along the way, he noticed some of the construction Master Harricus mentioned. By late afternoon, he arrived at the statue of the Goddess Bia located in front of the Villa. He bowed and thanked her for the strength of his body before rapping on the front door. Belen, General/Senator Spurius Maximus’ servant opened the door on the second knock.
“Corporal Sisera. Please come in,” the Greek offered. “I’ll inform the General that you have arrived.”
The servant rushed across the room and vanished down a hallway. Alerio stood by the pebble-encrusted floor drain. Thankfully, he was dry. On his first visit to the Villa, while he waited, he had to squeeze rainwater out of his traveling cloak. Although watching the stones in the bottom of the channel glow in colors had been entertaining.
“The General is in a meeting,” Belen called from the hallway. “He instructs that you go to the kitchen. The cook has a fresh pig on the fire and the General request that you do not eat the entire ham.”
“Yes, sir,” Alerio replied as he walked through the room in the direction of the cook shed.
“And don’t get drunk,” warned Belen. “You’ll be traveling in the morning.”
Late in the afternoon, when Alerio was stuffed with pig and yams and just finishing his third mug of watered wine, Belen came and collected him.
“General Maximus. Corporal Sisera reporting as ordered, sir,” Alerio stated.
“Sisera. Do you know what this is?” Spurius inquired. He held up a thick stack of goatskin parchment with both hands. Without waiting for an answer, the General continued. “This is the History of Art by Xenokrates of Sicyon. The definitive work on painting and sculpture artwork.”
“Very nice, sir,” Alerio ventured not understanding why he was being given a lecture on art. “Can I ask what this has to do with me?”
“When I was a Tribune, I met a pair of brothers on a diplomatic mission to Crotone,” Spurius stated. “Cleinias and Prophantus. Cleinias is now the elected Magistrate of the City State of Sicyon and Prophantus is an art dealer.”
“Yes, sir. Am I to hunt them down and kill them?” asked Alerio.
“There wasn’t a lot of water in the wine, was there?”
“No General,” admitted Alerio. “But the pig was excellent.”
“I do not want anyone killed, at least not on this assignment,” General Maximus replied. “I want you to go to Sicyon and buy art for me. I’ve made a list for Prophantus. While you’re there, pay my respects to Cleinias.”
“Sir, not to question you but, couldn’t you send a ship in the spring?”
“With Qart Hadasht warships roaming the Messina Strait, I’d be afraid of losing the art,” Spurius said. “As for the timing. This book has been copied and distributed widely. Xenokrates names Sicyon as the undisputed capital of art. By spring, every nobleman, tyrant and petty king will be rushing to purchase art from Sicyon. I want the first pick.”
“When do I leave, General?”
“My seers tell me the mountains above Maleventum will be clear of bad weather in the next few weeks. After that, it’ll be a harsh winter,” Spurius stated. “You’ll leave at daybreak. Belen will provide you with coins for purchasing art and another pouch for the trip. Plus, letters to allow you access to Legion horses and one introducing you as my agent in Sicyon.”
“Very good, sir,” Alerio said as he turned about and marched out of the General’s office.
Belen met him and handed over a leather saddle pouch. The pouch was unbalanced. Far heavier on one side than the other.
“It feels like a lot of coins,” Alerio commented. “How am I supposed to select artwork for the General.”
“Sicyon art isn’t cheap,” Belen explained as he walked Alerio to the front door. “Remember, art is subjective. Let Prophantus choose the pieces.”
“That’s good because, for a Legionary, the best piece of art in the Republic is an iron cooking pot full of camp stew,” Alerio offered. “Or an oven with loaves of bread baking.”
Belen shoved Alerio out and closed the door behind him.
“Although one could
make a case for a gladius being a piece of art,” Alerio said to the Goddess Bia. Then he turned and headed south across the city. He had one more stop to make this evening before returning to the inn.
Chapter 2 – A Knife and a Brown Bear
Alerio banged on the door, stepped back, and waited. When no one answered, he reached out and pounded on the oak boards with more force. After a moment, unoiled iron latches squeaked and the steel bounded door opened a hand’s width.
“We are closed for the day. It’s dark. Civilized people are at a meal replenishing their strength after a hard day of honest labor,” Tomas Kellerian informed him. “I would expect to be disturbed by a wet behind the ears Lance Corporal. But not by a veteran Tesserarius.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt your banquet, Master Kellerian,” professed Alerio. “I’ll come back later when you’ve finished your repast.”
“It’s not much of a feast,” exclaimed Tomas as he swung the door open. “Get in here. I don’t like conducting business on the street.”
Alerio slipped by the large armorer, walked through the second door, and into the shop. Display armor hung from frames in front of shelves of helmets. All of the headwear was topped by horse hair brushes. The ornate helmets were for Centurions, Tribunes, and Generals and not for Legionaries destined to fight in a shield wall.
“What can I do for you?” questioned Tomas.
“I need my civilian equipment,” Alerio replied. “I’m not going to Sicilia.”
“Change your mind? Heading back to your father’s farm?”
Ignoring the question, Alerio walked around examining the expensive armor.
“Why is it that rich Tribunes want all the garish decorations on their gear?” inquired Alerio. He pointed out sets of armor and helmets with gold and silver trim. “I mean, all it does is give the barbarians a target.”
Tomas Kellerian tossed back his head and laughed. His voiced reverberated off the rafters and into every corner of the large establishment. When he regained control, the armorer stepped up to a fancy breastplate and drove his fist into the metal.